


Alexandria

by tikistitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2013, F/M, M/M, also giant bugs, and tentacles, because who doesn't like giant bugs, but not those kinds of tentacles, that kind of got derailed in Road Warrior fandom, tiki's attempt at high fantasy, tons and tons of characters, vampirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 74,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasy AU.  Castiel De Angelus is a bladesmith finishing his apprenticeship in a sleepy seaside town and caring for his two younger brothers.  But when he runs afoul of the new territorial governor, Metatron, he finds himself shanghaied and forced to serve at a remote desert fortification run by the boisterous Winchester family.  This ancient outpost, carved out of a mountain by the legendary Men of Letters, is part of mankind's last line of defense against the mysterious desert-dwelling monsters known only as the Enemy.  But the real enemy might just be the Winchesters's scheming rival, Lucifer.  This one is pure Saturday afternoon serial: think Indy Jones meets Dune with a dash of Road Warrior and just a pinch of Kitchen Nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Dean Cas Big Bang Challenge.
> 
> My most sincere thanks to my infinitely patient, no-nonsense beta reader, zsomeone. Z, you are awesome and metal.
> 
> And gracious thanks to my utterly amazing artist, [Ammo](http://ammosart.tumblr.com). Watching her pieces go from concept to their full-blown glory has been a delight. Here's her [art masterpost](http://ammo.livejournal.com/216659.html) so you can gaze fondly at her groovy Sunday comix panels.
> 
> In addition to the glorious Supernatural universe, this piece is a sort of gmish of bits of Dune crossed with Nausicaa, and spiced with The Road Warrior and lashings of Top Chef. Also, Doc Cottle is actually a character from Battlestar Galactica, but since Donnelly Rhodes has guest starred on SPN I thought he'd fit into the universe. I was also alternately fascinated and terrified by the many brave souls who forge swords in their back yards and post the proceedings to YouTube.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Are you kidding? This is an _awesome_ idea!”

Sam glanced skeptically over at his grinning idiot of a brother, perched up on the shining black hood of their vehicle like some kind of triumphant king on his gilded throne. And then he once again hoisted his binoculars and skimmed them over the barren landscape below. He fixed his eyes on a small, belching, motorized device stationed right in the middle of his field of view. The exact purpose of the machine was elusive, although if spitting smoke was its design, then it was doing an awfully good job.

“That's was a good idea. About the machine, I mean.”

Dean's eyes were hidden by dark glasses, but his smile was wide. “I read it in a book.”

Sam's eyes constricted in doubt. “What? You don't read.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me, Sammy. I'm a complicated guy. Anyway. It oughta call one. That's why this is so awesome. No more waiting around. Have them come to us for a change!”

“Yeah, but Dean, what if they're just minding their own business?”

“Oh, come on, Sammy! These things don't just mind their own business. They lurk! And slither! And tunnel. And fucked up shit like that.”

Sam shook his head, his lips twisted in a wry smile. “I still think we should have brought some guys for backup.”

“We're short-handed as it is, Sam. And besides, they'd just slow us down. We'll try this out, and then if it works, great!”

“And if it doesn't work?”

“Hey, maybe we'll find a bug's hoard.”

“Dean, I dunno about you, but I gave up believing in the Enemy's buried treasure chest back when I was six years old.”

“Six? A little late, Sammy, but you were always slow on the uptake. Wait! There! What's that?”

Sam turned and once again raised the binoculars. He futzed with the focus. Yes, there was definitely something happening. At first he thought it was just dust blowing in the wind. But then the picture clarified.

“Tentacles,” said Sam.

“Knew it!” Dean pitched forward, yanking the binoculars away from Sam. 

“Hey watch it!” Sam yelped, pulling the strap off his neck where his brother was obviously trying to strangle him. He disentangled himself and then squinted off in the distance while Dean hogged the glasses. “It's just a little one,” he said.

“See?” said Dean. “And two of us, so we're golden. Come on!” And with that, he grabbed his sword and started step-sliding his way down the hill. Sam, still skeptical of the whole business, hefted his backpack and followed behind. 

It had made its way over to Dean's bait and was hovering close. To Sam, it seemed somehow attracted to the acrid black smoke billowing out, as it appeared to be edging over closer, cautiously extending a couple of tentacle-like appendages to brush Dean's hacked-together contraption. The lore was that these things were attracted to the ancient internal combustion engines. But legend also had it that one glance of the things could drive a man mad. And that obviously wasn't so. Well, at least in Sam's case. He obviously couldn’t speak for his slightly deranged older brother. 

The sounds of Dean's gas-farting machine grew louder as they descended. The creature continued its explorations of the device, seemingly oblivious to Sam and Dean. Was its back turned to them? Did these things even have a back? Sam paused while Dean drew nearer. This was the closest Sam had ever been to one where he wasn't absolutely shit-scared, running for his life. Roughly a football shape, a pointed oval, with lots of little legs along either side, and a whole sheaf of longer tentacle-like appendages sticking out at the one end. They sort of looked like mealybugs. Really, really big mealybugs. Like, crawl out of your nightmare and send you into a psychotic breakdown screaming your lungs out fucking mealybugs. He could see why folks called them crawly-bugs.

“Dean,” Sam hissed.

“What?” Dean froze and looked back over his shoulder, annoyance etching his features.

“I was just thinking … you know … maybe....”

“Maybe what?”

“Well, maybe we should just, you know, _study_ the thing?”

Dean fumed, and Sam suddenly imagined black smoke curling out of his brother's ears. “Sammy,” he said softly, pointing his sword towards the creature. “Enemy. Blade. Like Dad always says, pointy end goes in first.”

Sam glowered. It was his turn to fume. “But Dean-”

There was a low rumble: one not caused by the motor. Both brothers looked around, confused. 

“What was that? That's not-” But Sam's question answered itself as the ground on the far side of the mealybug thing began to swell up into little hillocks. 

“Shit!” Dean took a long step backwards. 

“It's a big one,” said Sam, who thought, _okay, here comes the shit-scared running part._

“Out of here. Now,” said Dean. Both brothers did an about-face, only to discover the ground that had been in back of them was now rising into a series of very familiar mounds. 

“We're surrounded,” said Sam. “It's directly below us!”

“Yeah, I get that,” said Dean. 

“We're right over the maw.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what his brother's next words would be.

“RUN!”

Dean charged ahead, sword drawn, just as one of the large feeding tentacles broke through the ground and snaked out at them. Dean gripped his sword two-handed and swung. He managed to hit the tentacle right at the neck. With a snap, and the blade broke off and Dean was left clutching just a hilt.

“Fucking fuck!” yelled Dean, just in time to get clobbered by the swollen end of the tentacle. “Salt gun!' he managed to gasp as he fell.

The ground beneath their feet was beginning to tremble. It wouldn't be long. Sam was already reaching for the gun on his back. He pulled out a weapon that resembled an overly large double-barreled shotgun. He pumped once and fired, blasting out a white spray. The tentacle quivered and curled up against itself, as if in pain. Still holding the gun, Sam grabbed the back of his brother's shirt and yanked him to his feet, and they both began to high-tail it out of there as another giant tentacle and then another emerged from the rapidly crumbling ground around them. 

Sam halted and fired ahead at another writhing monster appendage, and then it was Dean's turn to grab his brother by the back of the shirt and drag him along. They ran past the line of now a good half dozen extruded tentacles and started up the hill. 

Sam yelped and fell flat on his face, snagged by one of the smaller tentillum twining its way around his ankle. Dean leapt towards his brother, ripping Sam's sword from its scabbard and hacking away at the worm-like appendage. There was a snap, and the tentillum burst out a gooey green liquid all over Sam's pantleg. The tentacle suddenly withdrew back into the sand. Dean dragged Sam to his feet, and they limped up the hill, not stopping until they'd reached the top.

They turned to watch. Sam noticed that the small creature had clambered onto one of the tentacles, wound around it in a manner that almost looked protective. There was a great low rumble, and the entire valley floor collapsed, as if it were being sucked into a sinkhole. 

Then, with no more sound than a whisper, it was gone: tentacles, small creature, everything. It had sucked in Dean's contraption too, leaving only a crater in the sand. 

The only noise was the wind.

“Damn,” said Dean. “Lost my bug lure. Now I'll have to make another one.”

“Ewwwww!” said Sam. “It got my pants.” He pointed down to where the splash of the creature's blood had now eaten a dozen holes in the bottom of his jeans. 

“We'll get you new pants, whiner.”

“And what the hell do you mean, you're gonna make another one?”

“I mean I'm gonna make another one.”

“Why would you make another one?”

“It worked, didn't it?” He held up Sam's sword, he was still carrying.

“Dean!” 

“Oh, shit.” Like Sam's pants, the blade had been damaged by the monster's blood. It now appeared that one edge was serrated. “Well, Sammy, look at it this way. Now you got a really big steak knife!”

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, and the brothers limped towards the car.

 

Castiel paused. This was the critical step. This could make or break him.

He stepped back, scowling, wiping the rag wrapped around his wrist over his brow, a rivulet of sweat dripping down his bare chest. 

The blade was in the forge, heating. Good Damascus steel: the best Castiel had ever worked with, he thought. He wouldn't have a lot of time. Spend too long on the words, and the blade could crack, and all your hard work would fly out the window. But you had to be careful with the words. Someone's life could depend on your magic.

He grabbed the tongs and, bracing himself, pulled the blade from the forge and set it on the anvil, where it glowed, hot and red. 

He quieted his nervousness and, being careful with his grip on the tempered steel, thrust his left hand towards it, palm outward. He was very close: almost close enough to burn his hand.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, putting all his concentration on his work. He must be steel too. 

The words came, second nature now. How many times had he repeated them, lying in his bed at night? This one was a spell of protection. Whoever wielded the sword would be safe from the blows of their opponent. He spoke softly and swiftly, carefully enunciating every syllable.

He opened his eyes to the flash: the blade had gone from red to white. He held his breath, feeling his heart beating. The steel seemed to shimmer and glow, the white light effusing its length, flashing the lovely layers he had painstakingly beat into metal, so many tiny etched lines, unique as a fingerprint. 

And there it was, the faint susurration. The blade was talking. Yes, the spell was good. The spell was good.

Cas suddenly threw the an arm over his eyes. The light from the blade burst and suffused the room with the shine of ten thousand candles.

And then it was over.

Cas grabbed the tongs and tipped the sword into the oil bath, smiling at the sizzle. This was very good. His best! He let himself stop and smile, a small amount of pride bursting through. He had done well. Soon, his apprenticeship would be over, and he would make a fine swordsmith.

Startled, he turned to the sound of the door clattering open, and two boys tumbling in: a dark-haired teenager and a sandy-haired child or seven or eight. 

“Castiel! How did it go, brother?” asked the older one, who was already smiling. He had obviously seen the light cast out from the spell.

“Inias,” Castiel scolded. “Samandriel. You know you're not supposed to interrupt when I'm working.”

Inias rolled his eyes good-naturedly and peered at the blade, still sizzling from the dip in the oil bath. “We saw the flash. Is this a good one?” 

Castiel's small smile broke into a grin. “This is a good one. It's the best I've made.” His brother shared the grin. Castiel reached out and gripped the younger man by the shoulder. His head fell to the side, looking him up and down. “You'll be as tall as me soon.”

Inias stood up straighter. “You'll teach me everything you know? When you're a sword master? You're the best, Castiel.”

Castiel shook his head, although the grin did not fade. “I'm far from the best. Samandriel! What do you have now?”

Inias laughed and squatted down near the young brother who was watching something crawl back and forth on the floor. “His new pet.”

Castiel hunkered down to see the large spider legging back and forth between Samandriel's chubby hands down on the dusty floor. “Sammy,” he chuckled. “Still fascinated by bugs?”

“It's not a bug,” Samandriel told him. “It's a spider.” 

“And you talk to this one?”

“Of course I talk to him,” Samandriel huffed. “He's very smart!”

“Smarter than most humans,” said Inias, repeating one of his little brother’s lines.

Samandriel set a somewhat crushed matchbox down on the ground. “Home, Felix!” he ordered.

“Felix?” Castiel mouthed to Inias, who shrugged. The spider obediently crawled into the box, Samandriel then crammed into a pants pocket. “That's impressive,” Castiel told his brother.

There was a small sound from across the floor: someone clearing her throat. Three boys stood up as one, turning around to behold the new party inside the shop, a tall officious-looking woman wearing the robes of a government official. “The door was left open,” she said. Her tone somehow managed to be half scolding, half apologetic.

“Naomi,” said Castiel, moving instinctively between her and his brothers.

“It's the annoying lady,” grumbled Samandriel.

“Shhh!” Inias told him, grabbing him and pulling him out of the way.

Naomi kept her gaze focused on Castiel. “Castiel. We have a new governor in the Kansas territory, and since your father is not presently available, he'd like to speak to you.”

Castiel glowered. Their father had gone out for some fresh air one night soon after their mother died. That had been three years ago. Naomi and the other busybodies on the town council had tried to break up Castiel and his brothers, and tried to take away the smithy. Castiel had refused. They were family, little and broken as it was, and the smithy was his birthright, even if he hadn't completed his apprenticeship when his father vanished. But it was one thing after another. 

“What does he want to speak about?” Castiel asked. “Does he need a sword?”

“I don't think so, Castiel.”

“Then I have no business with him.” He turned his back on her and reached over to where his shirt was hanging on a peg. He threw it on and pretended to give a lot of attention to buttoning it up.

“Castiel, you need to speak with Metatron-”

“Metatron? What the hell kind of name is that?”

“I think he just wants to chat, Castiel.” Even with his back turned, Castiel could hear the carefully concealed impatience creeping into Naomi's tone. He was still young, but he was no fool. People like Naomi and this Metatron person didn't want to “chat.” They would hand over his business to a competitor, and rip apart his family.

“You _think_? You don't know?” Castiel turned back in time to see Naomi flinch. So, she was being kept in the dark as well. 

“I'm certain everything will be all right. Stop being so stubborn, Castiel. You are an important part of our community.”

 

“So, are you gonna go?” Inias asked nervously as the three boys headed down the path through the forest to their cottage at the edge of Lawrence. It was dusk and many insects were just emerging to feed, so Samandriel had rushed ahead to chase them.

“It could be good for us, Inias.”

“In what way? And what the hell kind of name is Metatron?”

“Whoever this person is, I don't believe Naomi likes him.”

“Ohhhh,” said Inias. Castiel smiled. His brother was a bright kid. 

“Who knows? I've heard tales from some of the sailors that the Enemy is afoot. Maybe he does want to order some armaments.”

“I could help you! If it's a big order.”

“Yes, you could.” They stopped outside their house. Castiel raised his arm, but then lowered it again. “Inias, why don't you say the words?”

Inias nodded eagerly, and as Castiel and Samandriel watched, raised his arm, palm outward, and carefully enunciated a few words in an ancient language. Abruptly several sigils painted on the door glowed with a soft yellow light. And then they faded. The door clicked open as the unlocking spell had its effect. 

“Come on,” said Castiel. “We'll celebrate our big order.” They headed inside and, after Inias carefully re-drew the salt line over the threshold, closed the door behind them.

 

Naomi had said it was an important meeting, so Cas had taken a bath (with more-or-less hot water) the previous night and now wore his newest, itchiest shirt. He had half a mind to go meet Metatron the same way he customarily greeted Naomi these past couple years: still sweating and stinking from bending over the forge. But Inias had counseled a more sedate path. After all, if Naomi disliked him, this Metatron person might actually be all right. 

He reached under his collar to scratch his neck, casting a glance out at the tide as he walked, hoping a view of the Narrow Sea would calm him. Some days, if it was clear, they said you could see all the way to the Isle of Arkansas on the eastern horizon. Cas had never seen it, and he didn't really have much use for sailor's tall tales.

He arrived at the villa, staring in wonder at all the commotion. Territorial muckety-mucks often moved around like head of a traveling circus, but this took the cake. Metatron had evidently taken over an entire villa (Castiel was unsure as to the proper owners, as he rarely got to this side of town). There were a number of horse-drawn wagons parked out back, and workers were still unloading crates. He wondered how long the governor intended to stay here. Lawrence was a moderate sized port, but most of their trade (well, what didn't get waylaid by the pirates) was with the peoples of the South, whom most of the territories regarded as only a step above the pirates.

Because of the hubbub he made it through the front courtyard and well into the house without being challenged. He paused in the high-ceilinged entryway for a moment, thinking to ask someone where to find Metatron, but curiosity got the better of him, and he instead chose a hallway more or less at random and wandered through. 

Being careful not to get clobbered by any of the workingmen hauling heavy cartons, he ventured down the hall, peering into various rooms while trying his best to act nonchalant. Just a single room here was as big as his family's entire house. Strange to think all this space was being occupied by just a single man.

He paused before a doorway. Checking first up and down the hallway to make certain he wasn't noticed, he slipped inside a dimly lit room. He carefully picked his way between pile upon pile of books, stacked up nearly to the ceiling. It looked like they had unpacked the room, but left before they could fix them up on bookshelves. He picked up a volume with a red cover. It seemed to be some kind of spell book. Unlike many people in Lawrence, Castiel could read and write. His mother had read stories to him and his brothers every night before bedtime, and he had continued the tradition after she died. Their father had told them it made you a better smith if you could read books and not just rely on the lore your master passed down. This was fortunate, as when Castiel's father then departed, he had managed to teach himself many things about the craft by going through his father's small library.

But this was incredible: there seemed to be books on every topic here. And even some unimaginably old tomes here in this pile he was standing over. Castiel briefly wondered why a government official had books on magic, as it was little required for the job. But he didn't have long to ponder.

“Good choice! That book is among the rarest.”

Castiel nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned, clutching the crumbling volume to his chest.

“Now, don't break the spine,” chided the rumpled man who stood before him. Castiel, with shaky arms, held out the book to him, and the man took it with a sad smile, leafing through it. “This is a treasure. This is a book from before the Great Flood.”

“Really?” whispered Castiel. He tilted his head, wishing now he had had a longer time to look at the book. “I thought everything was destroyed.”

“Oh, no.” The man was still distracted leafing through his book. “There's a lot out there. If you know where to look.” He lifted his face to stare at Castiel. “And I know where to look. So, you must be the De Angelus boy.”

“Um. Yes. Castiel.”

“Good, good. I had wanted to talk to you. Very important stuff.”

“Yes? I'm important?”

“Critically important.” But the man didn't elaborate. Instead, closing the book and caressing it with his hand, he carefully placed it back atop one of the piles. 

Castiel was silent for a long moment as the man gazed proudly at his pile of books. A sudden realization dawned on him. “You're Metatron.”

“I am Metatron. _The_ Metatron.” He smiled at Castiel. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “I think I might have an omelet. I'm getting a little peckish.” Without waiting for Castiel's answer, Metatron bustled out of the room. Confused, Castiel hesitantly followed him. Metatron grabbed a book - seemingly at random - on the way out, and then led Castiel past much hustle and bustle of moving, down another long hallway and finally out to a balcony overlooking the sea. He seated himself at the table and began to leaf through the book spread open on his lap. Castiel, after standing flustered for a moment, finally sat unbidden in the chair opposite. Metatron reached up and snapped his fingers. A servant appeared, so rapidly that Castiel actually flinched. “Omelet,” said Metatron, making no indication whether this was for himself or for both of them. After pouring them both some cooled water from a pitcher, the servant whisked away without a word.

Castiel gazed off over the sea for a while, and then looked back at Metatron. He recognized some of the sigils on the binding of the book. “You're a magic user?” he asked.

“I find it to serve a purpose,” Metatron told him. “Now, to the matter at hand. So you are the sword maker serving this principality?”

“I am the sword master. Yes.”

“Not really a _master_ , now are you?”

Castiel's cheeks colored. “Well, technically, I didn't finish my apprenticeship-”

“Then you are not the sword master. QED.”

Castiel straightened his back. “De Angelus Sword and Forge is my family business. As I have told Naomi-”

“Naomi?” Metatron's eyes drifted up to meet Castiel's, although he looked far away. “Yes, about that. Naomi is being replaced.”

“What?” For some reason, despite his great dislike for Naomi, the small hairs on the back of Castiel's neck started to prick up.

“Think on this. My territory is in need of a competent sword master, and she has demonstrated nothing but an extensive facility at the art of procrastination. It's disappointing, I tell you! The Enemy is afoot, and we can't afford to let our weakness show.”

Castiel's own thoughts drifted. “The Enemy? Yes. I've heard the rumors.”

“And of course you want your town protected. It's important for you. Your family. Your trade.”

“Yes, yes of course.” Castiel looked up distractedly as the servant placed a plate before Metatron. 

The older man seized a fork and dug into his eggs, emitting a small moan of pleasure as he savored the first bite. It occurred to Castiel that he hadn't been given any food, but he was thinking more about the news that Naomi was gone. Perhaps, he thought, things were looking up for him and his brothers without Naomi constantly nosing into their lives. Perhaps Metatron could help him find a master bladesmith, and he could formally complete his apprenticeship. 

“So, we are in agreement,” said Metatron.

Castiel blinked, coming out of his reverie. “Agreement?” He looked to his side. There were suddenly two servants standing on either side of his chair. They were big ones.

“We'll just get you out of the way, so we can bring in a real bladesmith,” muttered Metatron, who had returned to staring at his book while he continued to shovel omelet into his mouth. 

“But, my brothers....”

“Don't worry. Your brothers will be taken care of.”

The servants each grabbed one of Castiel's arms. “What? Wait!” Metatron made a dismissive gesture, and the servants began to drag Castiel away, sending his chair tumbling down with a crash.

Castiel stamped down on one guy's instep hard with his heel. The guy cried out in pain and let go. The young bladesmith swiveled and sent an elbow into the other guy's gut. He doubled over. Castiel grabbed the chair and hit him over the head with it. 

Then he whipped out his sword and pointed it at the first servant's neck. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“You did have to make this difficult, didn't you?” sighed Metatron. Not looking up from his book, he flicked up a hand and said some words.

Castiel gasped and grabbed his neck. He suddenly couldn't breathe. He fell to his knees, struggling for air. 

And then the world went black.

 

The world swayed softly, back and forth, back and forth. It was slow and gentle, like a soft lullaby. 

Castiel blinked in the sun. He smelled the ocean breeze, and his face relaxed into a gentle smile. 

He sat up, stretching. Funny, but he couldn't remember falling asleep. And he seemed to have bedded down on some coils of rope. Groggy, he shook his head and looked up, off across the wide turquoise sea.

He gasped and shot to his feet, almost overbalancing, as the deck gently rolled with the undulating sea. Panic flooded him. He was on a boat, and the ship was rapidly making its way offshore. 

In a split second, he made the decision. Castiel was a strong swimmer, but the boat was growing more and more distant from shore each moment he hesitated. If he tried it now, he could possibly make it back to land. Possibly. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of his brothers, dreading what Metatron meant to do with them.

He leapt for the rail, and then he was over, ignoring the surprised shouts coming from behind him.

The water was startlingly cold here, just off the shore, and the current was swift. He surfaced, spitting salt water, and began to swim, swift strokes and powerful kicks pushing him home. It wasn't far. Surely he's swum half this distance before: it would be no problem to push himself a little farther.

He became aware of a commotion behind him. Blinking in the briny water, he risked a look back over his shoulder. A boat. They had launched a small boat off the side: he glimpsed the flash of paddles as it skimmed his way. A shiver tore down his spine. He increased his speed, pushing himself, arms straining, heart pounding in his chest. Surely he could outrun them. He had to.

He heard them before he felt them. Raised voices, and the slap of oars. He dove down, slipping off below the waves in a random direction, trying to throw them off his trail, surfacing only when his lungs had begun to burn. He gasped for breath, only to find himself dragged down again by a great weight. His lungs half full of the salt sea, he thrashed, beginning to panic. 

Just in time he was pulled back to the surface, and found himself entangled in a rope net, hauled up to the small boat like a fisherman's catch.

They rowed him back and dumped him on the deck of the larger craft, as if he was no more than a haul of salmon. He struggled to his feet, still choking on salt water.

“Where the fuck do you think you're going, minnow?” asked one of the big guys, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and yanking him up. Castiel, dripping wet, made to stamp on his foot, but these guys were evidently brighter than Metatron's servants. The guy twisted around, and Castiel found himself face-planted on the deck, one arm yanked up in back of him.

“He's not a minnow, he's an eel,” laughed another guy.

“Hey there now,” came another voice, accent ripe and smooth as a peach dipped in honey. “Now, that's no way to treat a guest.”

“He was trying to swim for it,” the crew member told him.

“Well,” said the voice, as the man behind it hunkered down close to Castiel. "You might not wanna try that again. My boys, they can smell your blood, and hear your heart beating right in that chest."

"I have to go!" Castiel pleaded.

“You wouldn't get very far in these waters, friend. If the sharks didn't snap your damned legs off, you'd end up crushed on the rocks and the gulls would have your sorry ass for a midnight snack.”

“My brothers! I have to get back to them.”

With a grunt, the man rose up and gestured to the sailors. Castiel was wrenched to his feet and came face to face with a broad, genial-looking bearded man. “Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Captain Benny Lafitte, and this here is my good ship, the _Lovely Andrea_.” He gestured, filled with pride. “Now, I got me a contract to see to your safe passage over these waters, and into the hands of some good friends in the South. So, why don't you just settle yourself down and enjoy my superior navigational skills?” 

“You don't understand,” Castiel tried again. “I need to get back! Metatron tricked me!”

Captain Lafitte shared a glance with his crew men. “Yeah, he's been known to do that, brother,” he said softly. He straightened up. “But right now, we're on the job, and I have been mandated to bring your skinny haunches safely to the t'other side.”

“I won't go!” Castiel insisted, barging up so he was nose to nose with Benny. 

The sailors made to grab him again, but Benny grinned and waved them off. He leaned in even closer to Castiel, so close the young smith could feel his warm breath. “So you see, it's like this.” He opened his mouth into a wide grin. Castiel heard a slight click, and became aware he was now staring upon two rows of razor-sharp fangs. He flinched back, but Benny caught him by the collar and drew him in closer.

“You're … you're a vampire.”

“Oh, a sharp boy. I like that. So let me explicate to you the present situation. If you don't find yourself inclined towards our accommodations abovedeck, we can just show you an alternative.” He leaned in close, and Castiel shut his eyes.

 

“I seen Swiss cheese with less holes. What the hellacious fuck were you idjits up to this time?” Bobby Singer held up Sam's sword – at least what was left of it – and glared at Sam and Dean. Sam at least had the decency to display a modicum of embarrassment, but Dean merely glared.

“We were, er, kind of baiting the Enemy,” Sam told him.

“Well, you dumb shits! Why would you go and do a damn fool thing like that?”

“Uh. It seemed like a good idea?” Sam shrugged and looked to his brother. Bobby turned his back on the Winchester brothers and walked across the roof to glare across the battlements into the desert wasteland that surrounded the fort. 

“You at least find a bug's hoard while you were there?” Bobby grumbled. “Bring me some damned diamonds and rubies?”

Dean took a step forward. “Bobby, this was a success. We proved that the things are attracted to engines.”

Bobby rounded on him. “Boy, do you have a brain left in that head? Everybody knows the things are attracted to running engines! Now we are short on manpower, and our weaponry is a steaming pile of shit,” he added, holding up Sam's damaged sword. “And you get it in your fool head to go find the enemy and poke it with a damn stick?”

“Bobby,” said Sam.

“What do you think your daddy is gonna say when I tell him?”

Sam gulped, and even Dean looked contrite, if only for a short moment. But only a moment. “Bobby, the sword thing?” Dean ventured.

“Yeah.” Bobby tossed the sword to the floor where it clanged. “What about it?”

Dean and Sam looked at each other. “I got it taken care of,” Dean told Bobby.

Bobby glared. “You got it taken care of how? Oh, what did you do now?”

 

As it turned out, Captain Lafitte's idea of belowdecks accommodations was a small closet. Complete with a leg iron around Castiel's ankle.

“What if we sink?” he'd grumbled as the crew men chained him up.

“You better hope we don't,” the sailor had laughed, smiling with vampire teeth and hitching the key to his belt.

Castiel sat for a while and felt sorry for himself. There wasn't a whole lot in the room to distract him, just a piece of tarp for a bed, and a slop bucket they'd left in the corner for him to relieve himself. He had filled the bucket, but couldn't attract the crewman's attention to take it away despite repeatedly banging on the door.

He noticed a bag sitting on the floor opposite. He crawled over, squinting at it in the dim light. There was something sticking out of it.

Eagerly he grasped the hilt of his own sword and pulled it from the bag. He looked it over in wonder, and then opened the bag. It was his own clothing, and a few personal items. Castiel shivered. Metatron has evidently had his men go through Castiel's home before they'd sent him away. What had they done with his brothers? He carefully went through the bag, digging all the way to the bottom, tossing his clothing everywhere. But there was nothing there, nothing of value, just his own poor possessions. He sighed and, giving his leg iron a tug, sat back on the rough floor. And then he put his head in his hands and let himself have a good cry, there in the dark, furious tears falling from his eyes.

There was some kind of commotion in the corridor outside. Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, he cursed softly to himself and then started to toss his things back into the bag. It was then he saw the note crammed into a sock. He grabbed it crawled on hands and knees closer to the dim light from the porthole. He frowned. Scrawled out in messy letters was one word, “ALEXANDRIA.” 

The commotion outside got louder. He crammed the odd note into a pants pocket and stood up to peek out the door. The door came crashing open and he was thrown back. The crewman who had chained him up paused in the doorway, and then fell forward face-first, a sword sticking out of his back. 

Then a man Castiel didn't recognize appeared and pulled out the sword. Cas lunged for his own sword, lying by the bag, but got his leg iron tangled in the dead crewman and ended up sprawled on the floor. The stranger was at him. Castiel scrambled back, reaching for anything he could throw. His hand grasped the slop bucket. He tossed the contents at the swordsman, who reeled back, cursing, wiping the shit out of his eyes.

Quick as he could, Castiel kicked his leg and straightened out the leg chain. He threw it over the swordsman's head and pulled tight. The guy gasped and dropped his sword, falling to his knees. Castiel put a foot on his back and yanked. He struggled for a while, and then finally fell over, either dead or unconscious, Castiel couldn't tell, and didn't much care. 

He grabbed the key off the dead crewman's belt and unlocked his ankle chain. And then, grabbing his own sword from his bag, he dashed out of the room and headed upstairs, hearing banging and screaming and shouting from what sounded like a terrific fight. He reached the main deck: it was a picture of utter chaos. Captain Lafitte's men had brought out swords and guns and were engaged in a huge, gory fight with another group of sailors. There was another vessel, a bigger one, now tied up alongside the _Lovely Andrea_.

This group appeared to be vampires too, so along with the usual sword wounds and gunshots a number of men had evidently resorted to biting each other. A big, wild-haired guy threw himself at Castiel, sword pointed and teeth barred, and was rewarded with a sword through his heart. He howled in pain. Usually that kind of blow wasn't enough to finish a vampire, but Castiel had forged his own sword with enough magic to cripple most anything.

Another man lunged for him, but Castiel stepped back and extended his hand, and muttered some words. His spell smacked the guy in the chest just right to send him stumbling backwards against the main deck's balustrade. Cas then punched him in the jaw hard enough to topple him overboard.

He made his way astern in time to catch Captain Lafitte ripping out a man's neck with his teeth. As his opponent fell, the captain reared up, blood dripping from his mouth, crazed look in his eyes. A man lunged at him, and the captain met him with his sword. But just as he was gaining the upper hand, yet another opponent crept up behind, raising his sword.

“Look out!” Castiel screamed. And then, before he even realized what he was doing, he dove at the man and with one clean blow, lopped off his head.

Benny stabbed his opponent, and then whirled around. Grabbing the fallen head by the hair, he hoisted it up and stared at Castiel. 

“Christ on a cracker, boy.”

 

The deck was literally awash in blood. Most of the vampires had repaired themselves by now, but vampire magic didn't extend to washing bloodstains from clothing, nor swabbing pools of the stuff, now sticky and clotted, from the deck.

But Captain Lafitte didn't seem to attend to the blood. Instead, he was staring intently at Castiel's sword.

“No offense, brother, especially since you just saved my bacon, but how does a guy like you end up with a blade like this? Why didn't you tell me about this?” he asked nobody in particular in the crew.

“We didn't really look at his bag,” one of the crewmen muttered.

“Well, that's pretty dadamned obvious!”

“Captain-” Cas started.

“You can call me Benny. Think you earned it.”

Castiel bit his lip. “Benny. I made that sword. I'm a bladesmith.”

“You're an apprentice. I ain't never seen a blade stuffed with this kinda magic before. It's fucking intriguing, is what it is.”

“I am, technically, an apprentice. But only due to my father's … absence. Otherwise, I would have finished my apprenticeship by now. Sword making is my family business. Our family business. For generations.”

Benny leaned over and, to Castiel's surprise, handed him back the sword. “So, you got family back there you said?”

“I have two younger brothers. Inias and Samandriel. I don't know what's become of them.”

“Well, now. I can't take you back. That's something that just ain't allowed. But, I have a friend or two up North. It might not be beyond my capabilities to make certain inquiries. On your behalf.”

Castiel stared up at him. “You would do that?”

“On one condition. When you get where you're going, and you get yourself all set up, you go and make me a sword, one just like that one. Could you do that?”

Castiel regarded Benny for a while. “I made this last year. I could do better.”

“Well, that would be just fine. All right then. On your honor. I find out about your brothers, you get my my magical fucking sword.” Benny thrust out a large hand.

“Your honor … as a pirate?” 

Benny laughed, a soft, merry rumble. “On my honor, as a vampirate.” Castiel extended a hand, cringing slightly at Benny's ice-cold grip. “Now,” Benny called, one paw gripping Castiel's shoulder, “Can we rustle up some real chow for my friend? Think he deserves a meal that ain't clotted.” 

Castiel winced. But true to his word, Benny sent some of the crew scampering around, and before long, he had a very decent meal assembled of some savory meat (Castiel decided to not bother inquiring what kind, as he was hungry), sweet fresh fruits and even a bottle of wine. He puzzled at the fruit. He had seen the like before, but it was generally very expensive so he hadn't tasted anything like it in the years since his father had left.

After a time, Benny sat down opposite him. Castiel realized this room was probably supposed to be the captain's table, but as a vampire would have no use for such a thing, it looked like it had been used for storage.

“So how long have you been a pirate?” Castiel asked, not certain whether or not this was a polite inquiry.

“Since before your time. Nearly before the flood,” Benny laughed, reaching for the wine.

“You drink wine?”

“If I'm inclined. It don't do much to me no more, but I don't mind the flavor. Now that food,” he said, indicating Castiel's steak. “That stuff assaults my nose. Ain't worth it if it ain't fresh.”

Castiel nodded, and occupied himself peeling an orange. The scent was lovely. “So you remember the flood?”

“Well, I might be exaggerating a tad bit. I can honestly say I knew people who knew people who remembered this place as it was, just a stretch of dry land.”

“So, what happened.”

“Well now. They say it was the Enemy. But you ask me, it wasn’t the crawly-bugs: we brought it on ourselves. Nothing on this green earth dumb as a human.”

“But you're not a human,” Castiel pointed out, shoving an orange slice into his mouth.

“I was once. As were all of us.” Benny scraped his chair forward and put his thick forearms on the table. “Now, I gotta know, what do you know about the South?”

“Not much.”

“You ain't interested?”

“It hasn't been much of my concern.” He chewed orange pulp and mused about it. “There are the forts. The Seven. They protect us from the Enemy.”

“That's their stated purpose, yeah. But it's been my considered observation that they spend a decent amount of time fightin' amongst themselves.”

“I've occasionally caught wind rumors of internecine conflicts from sailors who've come ashore.”

“Ain't occasional. More like constant.”

“Isn't that against their code?”

“Code don't much matter when you're fifty miles from the nearest water hole that ain't poisoned.”

“I thank you for your interest, but it doesn't matter. I don't plan to stay long in the South.”

“Plans don't tend to last long in the desert. Now, I figure I owe you one, so I'm gonna give you some advice. I know you wanna look after your brothers, since you're an honorable guy. And it's good to have honor. But Metatron? Well, I've never had the pleasure, but I've heard tell of him, and he ain't such as you want for an enemy. Tricked out magic sword or not. You hear me, brother, you go where we take you, and you stay for a spell. There's not many I respect as far as I can throw their ass, not in the South, but these men, they're square. I can vouch for them.”

“On your honor as a vampirate.”

“On my honor as a vampirate.” Benny smiled through pointed teeth. “You sit tight for a spell, and I'll check around for your brothers. And there's a promise.”

A sailor entered, and Benny nodded at him. “We’re in sight,” he told Castiel.

The port, as it happened, was no port at all, but just a stretch of barren coastline, as far as Castiel could tell, absolutely identical to the other barren stretches of coastline along the South.

There wasn't even a dock, so, after bidding him farewell, and making him promise once again to craft the captain a sword, Benny sent Castiel off to be ferried to shore in a small rowboat. They cast him and his small bag of belongings on land with strict instructions to stay put. “Now, don’t go looking around for a bug’s hoard. You don't know whose territory you'll be wandering into, and besides, you'll definitely get lost.”

And then they rowed off, paddles slapping the water. Castiel, knowing not what else to do, waved goodbye. 

The rowboat returned to the ship, soon weighed anchor, and then the Lovely Andrea set sail, silently retreating into the distance. Castiel watched until it became a speck on the horizon, and then, having nothing else to do, he watched some more.

The sun slanted low on the horizon. Castiel fished a jacket out of his bag and shrugged it on, rubbing his arms with the chill. And then he pulled out one of the oranges Benny had given him and started to peel it, more for something to do with his hands than any hunger. The food wouldn't last long if, as he feared, he had been abandoned here. They had also given him a canteen of fresh water, but he didn't like his odds walking in the sun.

He may have dozed, sitting there, coat wrapped around him, because when he looked up, it was like waking from a dream. A very tall figure now stood over him: big as a doorway, if there had actually been a door anywhere in sight.

Castiel was on his feet, clutching his sword, but the figure made no move towards his own weaponry: Cas could see he carried a rather ridiculously large rifle or shotgun on the back of his pack. Instead, after a pause, he unwrapped the dark headscarf that was hiding his face, and smiled with what looked to be genuine warmth.

“You're the De Angelus guy?” he asked, extending a hand.

Castiel nodded nervously, tentatively extending his own hand. “Castiel.”

“Castiel? It's a pleasure. I'm Sam Winchester. Welcome to the South!”


	2. Chapter 2

Inias bit his lip and watched his brother beside him on the floor, playing with caterpillars.

Abandonment. It was their lot in life. 

Castiel had left for a meeting with Metatron, and that was the last they'd seen of him. Inias had waited eagerly for him to return, but then the day stretched into night, and he had gotten more and more nervous. That sick, sinking, utterly familiar feeling. Their mother had left them, and so had their father. Maybe Inias and Samandriel simply deserved to be abandoned.

And then the unsmiling men – Metatron’s men – had stormed into the house, thrown some of Castiel's things in a bag, and told Inias his brother was going some place far away. And they kept mentioning a word he had never heard before, _Alexandria_. Was that where they were sending Castiel? Inias had scribbled out the word as best he could and stuffed it into Castiel's bag when Samandriel had them distracted by his newest pet. Inias had gotten the note in the bag, though, unfortunately, Sam’s pet hadn’t survived the encounter.

He heard a shuffling of chairs and looked towards the dais. Naomi had come by the next morning to demand they come to the meeting. The town council was in a special session, and the agenda was what to do about two orphaned boys. Boys who happened to own the town’s only smithy. Inias felt his stomach lurch.

Naomi stood up in the center, looking impressive in her robes of office. There weren't a whole lot of people in the audience besides Inias and Samandriel. 

Then the door opened, and a small, rumpled man entered. He carried a large, dusty old book. He marched all the way up and sat up right in the front row, but then he took out the book and began to read, as if he were slightly bored with the proceedings. Naomi, who quite suddenly appeared nervous, called everything to order, and then there was some droning about new business and old business.

And then Naomi said, “Regarding the De Angelus brothers....”

Inias felt he was going to be sick.

But now the rumpled man was on his feet, the opened book placed carefully on the chair beside him. “I have some new business,” he said.

“What is it, Metatron?” The council exchanged worried looks, and even Naomi looked flustered.

“I think this council has become redundant, so I'm here to give you your walking papers.” He smiled and tilted his head. The lower half of his face shaped a smile. “So to speak.”

One of the older, fustier council members spoke up. “We are not redundant.”

“Redundant? Is that what I said?” asked Metatron distractedly. “I'm sorry, I misspoke. I meant to say, obliterated.” And before anyone could object, he raised a hand, and, looking down at the book opened on the chair beside him, started to speak some arcane words. It sounded like the words Cas used in the smithy. 

The room crackled with a familiar energy.

Naomi gasped, and then screamed, “No!”

Inias grabbed his brother, covering his eyes.

And then it was over, with nothing remaining but the smell of charred flesh.

“Now, Naomi, is it?” asked Metatron, who hopped up on the dais and went to stand before her. Inias held his breath as Naomi stood stock still, eyes wide. “I'm going to give you a choice...”

 

The journey took a full night and part of the next day.

Sam told him that it was easier to move during the night: it was cooler, and the stars were out to guide them. Castiel, who was too wired to sleep anyway, agreed. And so they had proceeded on foot, although he had no idea how Sam found his way through the drifting dunes.

He thought of the story his mother had read to him, so many years ago, about a boy and a girl who got lost in the woods, and thought perhaps he should have left behind a trail of bread crumbs. Or maybe orange peels. He didn't like the idea of going someplace when he didn't know the way back, and each step took him farther and farther away from his brothers. He reached into his pocket and, for the dozenth time, fingered the scrap of paper from his bag, the one with the word, _Alexandria_ , scrawled out on it. 

As for Sam, he had wrapped himself back up in his scarf – he called it a keffiyeh – and rarely spoke. He had at first asked Castiel a few questions about his sword making business, but then seemed to lose interest. It was just as well. Sam was one of the tallest men Castiel had ever met, so it was a job keeping up with his long strides, especially in the dubious footing offered by the endless stretches of sand dunes.

Once when they stopped, Castiel started to pour the accumulated sand from his boots, and Sam chuckled. “You can do that, but it'll just fill up again.”

“Was it always like this?” Castiel asked, not really expecting an answer. “Before the Great Flood?”

“From what I've heard, yeah, even before the Flood,” Sam told him. He spread his arms wide. “This used to be the Republic of Texas.”

“ _Teck-siz_ ,” said Castiel, trying out the new word for size. Why hadn't he heard about this before? Maybe he had spent too much time with his nose in a book on sword making? “How did you come to live here, Sam?”

“What? My people have always lived here.”

“Oh. All right.” Cas peeled an orange. “Um. Are we close to our destination?”

“Yeah, I'm sorry, we're kind of taking the long way.”

“Are we avoiding … the Enemy?”

Sam chuckled. “Not really. We need to avoid walking through someone else's territory. They might not exactly be welcoming.”

Castiel didn't answer, but remembered what Benny had told him about conflicts between the forts.

Sam took a big pull of water and seemed to be looking Castiel up and down. “So, you're what, 21?”

“I am nineteen years old, Sam.”

Sam flashed a big smile. “Oh, okay, same as me!”

“You are nineteen as well?”

“Nineteen and still growing!” Sam boasted, taking the occasion to stand up. “Dean's pretty peeved. I wasn't supposed to be taller than him.”

“Dean?”

“My brother. Don't worry, you'll meet him.” Sam was now rummaging around in his own pack. He pulled out a black and white scarf. “Here. It's gonna be dawn soon. I'll help you put this on. You look like you've been spending a lot of time indoors.” Sam expertly twisted the scarf around Castiel's head and, with assurances that they were now close to the destination, they set off again.

 

Castiel finally set his tired eyes on his new residence some hours later. It was probably mid-morning, based on the position of the sun. The terrain had changed some miles back from endless sand to jagged and rocky. He was once again grateful that Sam had escorted him, as he reckoned he could have stumbled right by without seeing the fort, hidden as it was in the shade of two mountains. It had been carved straight out of the red stone of the cliffs. It was stunning.

“This is it. The Red Fort.” Cas canted his head to the side. The sandstone walls did carry a trace of reddish pigment. 

Sam led him inside. Castiel’s feet were throbbing, and he was grateful for the cool, shady interior of the grand corridor. Sam greeted a number of people, and then he pulled aside a painfully skinny teenager and had a whispered conversation with him. Sam turned around to Castiel. “He'll take you to Bobby. Bobby will get you settled.” And then, before Castiel could object, Sam was striding off.

By this time Castiel was footsore and in desperate need of a long nap, so he followed the skittish teen without question. They wound through the labyrinthine structure, down this hall and that, and then up several flights up stairs, until finally they emerged into the sunlight, up on the roof. Castiel blinked in the bright light, and then stifled a yawn.

“What, you're bored already?” came a voice. And then there was the sound of chuckling. Castiel turned to address the one who had spoken to him, an older, bearded guy who was now glaring at him.

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered. He noticed there were several swordsmen hanging around, and all were staring at him. 

“And what the blazes are you supposed to be?”

Castiel cast a glance at the teen who had brought him up there, but the guy appeared to be trying to disappear into a shadow. And then he faced the speaker. “I'm Castiel De Angelus. The bladesmith.”

“You're what?”

Castiel straightened up, although his back was aching. “I am Castiel De Angelus, the bladesmith.” The swordsmen continued to chuckle.

“Damn. I hollered for a dog, and they went and me a damn puppy,” groused Bobby. “Look, kid, I don't know what you are, but you sure as fuck ain't no master swordsmith.”

“I am,” stated Castiel. “I am Castiel-”

Bobby charged forward. “Do I look like I'm in the mood for an argument?” he snapped, pressing his face close to Castiel's. Castiel bit his tongue. “From now on, you're Castiel de Kitchen Staff, and I don't want to hear no backtalk. Comprende?”

Castiel gritted his teeth and nodded, while the men gathered on the roof continued to laugh. 

“Go on, Garth. Get him out of here,” Bobby ordered the teen, who skittered out of the corner where he was hiding and tugged on Castiel's arm. Garth wasn't looking where he was going, and one of the men lounging by the stairs stuck out a foot to trip him. He nearly fell face first, but Castiel was quick enough to grab him by the back of the shirt and right him. Castiel then rounded on the guy who tripped Garth, pushing into his space and glaring at him. Even though the man had a few inches and about fifty pounds on Castiel he took a nervous step back.

“All right, idjits! Quit fucking around and form up!” Bobby yelled. “Garth, get Mr. Important Bladesmith out of my sight.”

Garth nodded and tugged Castiel towards the stairs as the men on the roof began to form up into rows.

Castiel, fuming, followed down the stairs. “You know,” Garth whispered, “That's Virgil. You shouldn't get on his bad side.”

“Why not?” 

“He's one of the patrol officers now,” Garth huffed. “But he gets busted down to kitchen staff. Pretty often, too. He could make your life miserable. Believe you me.”

Castiel suddenly halted on the stairs. “So working in the kitchen is … a punishment?”

“Come on!” said Garth, grabbing at Castiel's sleeve. “We don't wanna be late.”

“And why not?”

“Because one guy you really don't wanna piss off is the chef!”

 

“So, the De Angelus guy.”

Dean glanced up at his brother. He was sitting in his office, feet up on his desk, drinking a beer. “The De Angelus guy?”

“Is a kid.”

“Is a kid?”

Sam pretended to look around. “Is there an echo in here?”

Dean twisted in his seat to face his brother, putting the beer to his lips. “The De Angelus guy is a kid.”

“Is that what I said?” Sam thumped down into the chair opposite Dean.

“How is he a kid?”

“Well, I was talking to him on the way here. It turns out the bladesmith – their father – took off, I guess. So he's been the one making the swords.”

“How the hell long has this been going on?”

Sam shrugged his wide shoulders. “I dunno. Years?”

“But what about those swords we've been seeing? Am I supposed to believe they were made by … some apprentice?”

“Doesn't seem likely.”

“No, it doesn't seem likely.”

“It must still be stuff left around from their father. I mean, I guess.” Sam shrugged.

Dean sighed. “So, basically, we're fucked.”

“Yeah. We're fucked.”

“Now who's the echo?”

Sam smiled.

Dean scratched his head. “So what did we do with the kid?”

“Bobby dumped him in the kitchen.”

“That'll work. If he's any good with a blade, he'll stab Crowley in the heart.”

Sam broke into a grin. “That won't work.”

“Why.”

“Crowley doesn't have a heart.”

Dean snickered.

 

“And what are you supposed to be?”

The kitchen was housed deep in the bowels of the fort, and it was utter chaos, with sweating, white-coated people running everywhere and flames flickering and occasionally whooshing off something being cooked flambé. The place smelled of carbon and damnation. Castiel, who had no fear of fire after so many years working over a forge, was intrigued to see that Chef Crowley was the only being down here who did not appear to perspire.

“I am Castiel.” He left off anything else, as he had no wish for another fight.

“And so, _Castiel_ , why the blazes did you bring a sword to my kitchen?”

“Uh, they just brought him in, Chef,” Garth supplied.

Crowley's face flushed red. “WAS I TALKING TO YOU, GARTH?”

Garth cringed. “Uh. No sir.”

Crowley turned back to face Castiel. “Well?”

“I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”

“See that you don't. So, I don't suppose you have even the tiniest smidgen of experience working in a kitchen?”

“No.”

Crowley threw up his hands in supplication, nearly tripping a girl rushing by with a dripping colander. “What they make me tolerate! All right, listen well, Castiel. You are to come nowhere near my kitchen while we are doing anything close to meal preparation. Is that clear? I want you away from my kitchen. I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear you. I don't want to smell you! You are to come here, quieter than a little mouse, after the last person has been fed, and wash all of the dishes. All of them. And put them away. And never let me know that you were here, darkening my kitchen. IS THIS UNDERSTOOD?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes.”

“Then be back here this evening. But not before.” 

“Yes.”

“Now, kindly get lost,” said Crowley, waving him off. Castiel, however, remained rooted to the spot. “Oh, what is it now?”

“I'd like to sleep for a few hours now, chef.”

“Yes I suppose standing here doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING is too taxing on your system.”

“I'll find him a bunk, chef,” said Garth, who was already tugging on Castiel's sleeve. 

“See that you do,” grumbled Crowley. He rolled his eyes. “Why am I cursed to work with complete imbeciles?”

Garth led Castiel down a narrow hallway to the kitchen staff dormitory which, Castiel was delighted to learn, was also at this basement level, and was satisfyingly dark. Unfortunately, the only empty bunk was the one right by the door, and he learned, after stowing his meager possessions and finally bedding down, just why it was empty. Every time a staff member entered or left, they made a special point in slamming the door as hard and as loud as they could. Castiel endured an hour or so of this, and then, grabbing a pillow and a blanket, slipped underneath his bunk, and finally curled up there, on the cold hard floor, for a few fitful hours of exhausted sleep.

He was startled from his slumber by someone shaking his shoulder. He wearily crawled out from underneath his bed to see most of the other bunks were now occupied. Those who weren't snoring were busy shushing the unlucky guy who'd woken him up. Whoever it was, he was short and cranky as hell. “Aw, fuck off,” he grumbled, tossing a pillow back at the guy who'd just thrown it at his head. “Come on,” he rasped at Castiel. “Time for your shift. And Crowley doesn't take shit.”

Castiel rubbed his eyes and followed the kid back down the path to the kitchen. It was impossible to tell the time for sure, as there were no windows down here, but many of the lights had been dimmed, and barely anyone was around. The kitchen, far from the hub of chaos it had been this morning, was nearly deserted.

The boy stifled a yawn. “So the deal is, I bus, you clean. You don't leave 'til everything is sparkling. You dig?”

Castiel looked at the sink and nodded. The boy turned to leave. “And you are-?” Cas asked.

“I'm Kevin.”

“Kevin. I'm-”

“Dude, you're the new low man on the totem pole. That's all you are.” And then he was off. Castiel shrugged and began to fill a nearby sink with soapy water. He was amazed by the water pressure, and the heat of the water, was nearly scalding. The plumbing back in his hometown seemed crude by comparison. 

Kevin soon returned with a tub full of scummy dishes. He unceremoniously dumped them in the sink and stalked off. Castiel soon lost himself in a rhythm of scrubbing and rinsing. He regretted that soaking in water would probably soften some of the hard-won calluses on his hands, but reassured himself this situation was temporary. Soon, he thought, Benny would come with news of his brothers, and he would return to the North. 

“You're falling behind, dimwit.” Castiel was shaken out of his reverie by Kevin, who did not take kindly to being grabbed by the collar and having his head plunged into the dirty dishwater.

“What the fuck?” he sputtered when Castiel let him up. “Are you insane?”

“Potentially.”

Kevin stepped back, out of Castiel’s reach, and coughed. “Why did you do that?”

“My name is Castiel. I suggest that you employ it if you would like to communicate with me.”

“All right. All right. _Castiel_. I gotta go, get more of the fucking dishes.”

“Are we making any progress in that regard?”

Kevin slumped and put a hand through his wet hair. “Yeah. We're almost done with the dinner dishes. But then we gotta clean the pots and pans and that shit.” He waved his hand around the kitchen. Castiel looked around. The kitchen was chock-a-block with greasy pans and gooey pots. They were stacked seemingly everywhere. He sighed and nodded.

“It takes 'til dawn, usually,” Kevin explained. “Not that you could tell it was dawn in this shithole. You finish about when the prep people are coming in.”

“All right,” said Castiel, turning back towards the sink.

“That's it? 'All right?'” asked Kevin.

“Yes, all right?”

“I didn't wanna be here, you know. I was gonna be something else!”

Castiel grabbed a stack of dishes and handed them to Kevin. “Please place these in the appropriate cupboard, Kevin.”

Kevin frowned, but then did as he was asked.

“And what was your chosen career, Kevin?” asked Castiel, turning back to his chores.

“I'm gonna be a musician! I'm really good.”

“I'm sure you are. Then why are you here?”

Kevin grabbed more dishes from the drain. “My mom … she died.” His voice broke a little on the last word.

“Condolences. Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

“Nope. It's just me.”

“I have two younger brothers.”

Kevin frowned. He stopped loading dishes and hopped up on the damp kitchen counter next to Castiel. “Oh! What happened to them?”

“I don't know.”

“Oh. Shit. Well. Sorry, dude.”

“I don't plan to stay here long. I am going go to find them.”

“I dunno, you know? It's not easy leaving here. How did they bring you here? Did you come by car?”

“By … what?” Castiel paused for a moment to stare at Kevin.

“It's like.... Oh never mind.” Kevin looked him up and down. “You're from the North, right?”

“Yes.” 

“You'll see.”

Castiel stared for a moment longer, but as Kevin seemed disinclined to elaborate, he turned back to the dishes. “We walked here.”

“Yeah, well, you're not walking away. Not unless you have a guide.”

“Sam seemed to find the way.”

“Yeah, but the Winchesters were born here! Those guys know the territory like the backs of their hands. Guys like you and me, we wouldn't get far. We'd run out of water. Or get captured by another outpost. Or worse, run into the Enemy.”

“Is the Enemy around in great numbers, then?”

“Um....”

“What?”

Kevin picked at the frayed knee of his jeans. “Welllll, I've never really seen them. Or it. Or whatever. But I know they're around! Sam and Dean saw one the other day! I heard about it.”

“Sam and Dean are the Winchesters?”

Kevin goggled at Castiel. “You don't even know that? Yeah. They're in charge. Well, when their dad is gone. is most of the time, actually. This place has been operated by Men of Letters since.... Well, probably at least since the flood!”

“Men of Letters?”

Kevin threw up his hands in exasperation at Castiel’s obvious thick-headedness. “Dude, you can't tell me you haven't heard of them! They're a secret society.”

“If they're a secret society, how have you heard of them?”

Kevin rolled his eyes skyward. “ _Everybody's_ heard of them!”

“Pretend, then, that I am ignorant.”

“That won’t be hard,” Kevin muttered. 

“Would you mind terribly bringing me some of those pots, Kevin?”

“Yeah, sure, man,” said Kevin, hopping off the counter. He brushed his slightly damp butt and grabbed an armload of frying pans. “So, you know there was the bad time. And the flood. And, um, I’m not sure if there was magic before, but there was magic. And the seven families. Or maybe it was twelve? Guess it depends on who’s telling the story. They built the Seven Sisters outposts to protect us! In the Republic of Texas, right north of Meh-hee-ko.”

“Meh-hee-ko,” Cas murmured.

“There were seven forts, but now there’s six. Um, I’m not sure if they used magic or not, but maybe. Anyway.”

“This is an intriguing story, Kevin.”

“Yeah! Like, everybody knows. I’m surprised they didn’t tell you it all in the North.”

“Yes. That’s surprising.” Castiel scowled as Kevin dumped a pile of cutlery into the sink. He extracted a cutting blade and held it up to the light. Dish suds scudded down the handle. “What is this supposed to be.”

Kevin emitted a giggle. “Dude. It’s a knife.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “This is not a knife. This is … shit.”

“Dude. Don’t tell Chef that!”

Castiel glared.

 

Deep within the bowels of the Onyx Fort, Lucifer sat, his feet up on the desk, and lobbed paper airplanes at the waste basket.

His office door opened and closed. He did not look up.

“My Liege,” came Uriel’s deep rumble.

“A little to the left, Uriel,” muttered Lucifer. 

Uriel frowned, and then shuffled a fraction to the left. Lucifer let loose another paper airplane, nearly took Uriel’s eye out, before it fluttered and barely missed his waste basket. Uriel, for his part, stood stock still.

“God dammit.” 

“My Liege, Lilith awaits.”

“So let her await. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Uriel stood still a moment more, and then crouched down to retrieve one of the paper airplanes. He patiently unfolded the creation, smoothing it out with his large hands. He cocked an eyebrow. “Ah. The dinner invitation from our good friends, the Winchesters.”

“Yes. It’s annoying. I want to go there and torment that traitor, Crowley, but I then we won’t be able to attack them for at least another month!”

“These gentlemen’s agreements are annoying,” Uriel tutted. 

“The best chef in the Seven Sisters, and those rat bastard Winchesters stole him from me.”

“So. Are we attending?”

“I don’t know,” said Lucifer, standing up and stretching. “I’d much rather get eaten by a crawly-bug.” Uriel tossed the dinner invitation over his shoulder, and the two men exited the office and proceeded along a dark hallway and then down an equally dark staircase. “Does she have to do her scrying down here? I’d much rather watch from a nice deck. Maybe with a dancing girl on my lap.”

“You know what Lilith said about that?”

Lucifer emitted a snort. He was well aware of Lilith’s opinions about what she referred to as his “proclivities.” The woman badly needed to loosen up.

The found themselves in a dim, candle-lit room. A stunning blonde glared up at them. She sat at a round table with a shallow dish of a viscous red liquid in the middle.

“Does he have to be here?” she snapped, nodding her head towards Uriel. “He creates a negative energy.”

“Uriel is my second in command,” Lucifer supplied as he took a seat next to Lilith. “So, yes, he and his negative energy are here to stay.” Uriel smirked and took the seat opposite Lucifer. Lilith huffed a frustrated sigh. 

“Is the virgin’s blood fresh today?” asked Uriel.

Lilith smiled. Even Lucifer felt a chill down his spine. “It’s perfectly fresh.”

They joined hands, and Lilith shut her eyes. The blood in the bowl began to bubble, and then the surface morphed into a distinctive shape: a small red-tinged replica of the Onyx Fort.

“Show me the Red Fort,” Lucifer told her.

Lilith nodded slightly. The small Onyx Fort shrunk down, and then seemed to roll off the edge of the dish. The image of rough terrain appeared, as if one was gliding over a red desert, and then finally the liquid in the dish formed an image of the Red Fort. 

But then Lilith emitted a small cry and whipped her head back. The Red Fort too spun away, off the edge of the dish, and the image changed to more terrain, and then skimming over what looked like water.

“Lilith. What the hell?” asked Lucifer. “I said the Red Fort!”

“I don’t believe she’s in control now,” Uriel told him.

As Lilith began to pant and sweat, the image turned back to a coastline – but full of greenery, and less barren. Then the vision climbed up to a large, impressive building. The building grew in size, and then they were racing down some unfamiliar corridors. 

They came to a room full of what looked like small stone obelisks. When you squinted at them, it began to appear that they were not stone at all, but stacks of books. There was a rumpled man standing there among the stacks, casually reading a book. He looked up as he spun into view. He was facing Lucifer, not Lilith.

“Greetings,” intoned Lilith as the figure’s lips moved. “I am Metatron. So nice to chat with you today.” Her voice was unnaturally low. Perspiration dripped down her forehead.

“Metatron?” asked Uriel.

Metatron’s red features formed a sneer. “Oh, very good, Lucifer, you have a pet parrot.”

“Don’t get snarky,” Lucifer told the image of Metatron. “That’s my job.”

“Oh, you’re not intimidated? That’s charming. You probably should be. But you’ve always been a bit of an idiot, haven’t you?”

“What do you want?” said Lucifer. “That’s _my_ psychic you’re hijacking.”

“This won’t damage her. Much. And it’s what _you_ want, not me. I’ve sent you a present.”

“That’s good. I love presents. Especially ones for me.”

“I’ve sent you a bladesmith.”

Lucifer and Uriel exchanged a glance. Now both men leaned forward, interested. “We’re listening,” said Lucifer.

“He’s with the Winchesters.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “If you’re sending him to me, why did he end up with the Winchesters? That’s not a very good gift.”

Metatron’s red image in the bowl glowered. “It was a fuck up,” Lilith intoned, her voice low. “He was given to the wrong pirates. And then we sent our pirates after him, but they screwed up as well.”

“Imagine,” cooed Uriel, “not being able to trust a pirate.”

“Silence, parrot.”

Lucifer gestured for Uriel to be quiet, and it was Uriel’s turn to fume. 

“The boy’s name is Castiel. Of the De Angelus family.”

“I have heard of them,” said Lucifer, pressing his hands together. “And, why are you giving this gift to me?”

“I’m doing some … consolidation, you could call it, up here in the North. I need someone to do the same down South.”

“But why me?” asked Lucifer.

“Why do you ask so many questions?”

“I’m a curious creature.”

Metatron sighed. “Just get the bladesmith. By cunning or force, I don’t care, though it seems you’re a little short on the former, so I’d recommend the latter. Now, I have some reading to catch up on.” Metatron’s eyes went back to the book, and suddenly his image in the blood was shrinking as if they were flying away from him. The building appeared again, and then the coastline, and then the red blood splashed as Lilith reared back, eyes rolling back in their sockets.

Uriel took out a handkerchief to wipe away a spot of blood from the bowl that had gotten on his lapel. Lucifer got up and gripped Lilith by the hair, bringing her head up. She was unconscious, foaming at the mouth. Lucifer let go her hair and her head lolled back.

“Perhaps the virgin blood wasn’t as fresh as she thought,” said Uriel.

Lucifer nodded towards the door, and they retreated, leaving Lilith sitting there. “The dinner invitation?” said Lucifer.

“Yes?”

“We need to dig it out of the waste paper basket.”

 

“What is this?”

“Uh. Chicken, Chef?”

Crowley glowered at the trembling sous-chef and held up the plucked pink carcass by one talon. “You would call this chicken?”

“Would I call this chicken?” repeated the sous-chef.

“What did I just ask you, moron? This is not poultry. It’s a bag of bones. A bag of bones!” But Crowley jumped back in mid-tirade and nearly dropped his non-chicken as suddenly a great pile of cutlery was dumped on the table before him.

“Do you call these knives?” Castiel demanded as he stepped boldly before the chef.

Crowley looked at the table, looked up at Castiel, looked back at the table, and then to the sous-chef he had been berating. “Is this a joke?”

“I assure you, this is no joke,” Castiel told him. 

“Yes, I call these knives. Next question. And didn't I tell you to make yourself scarce?”

“These blades wouldn't cut through warm butter.”

“And what the bloody hell do you presume to know about blades?”

It happened in a split second: Castiel grabbed a cleaver and flicked it at the wall. It embedded in the door with a dull thrum.

Crowley and the sous-chef, as well as several other people who happened to be nearby, all stopped and gawped at the cleaver.

“I know something about blades,” said Castiel.

“Holy shit,” muttered Crowley, more to himself than anyone else. “I think I'm aroused.”

The door opened, and a tall green-eyed man poked his head inside. He looked at the cleaver and grinned. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Winchester,” grumbled the chef. “All right, everybody!” he shouted. “Get to your bloody jobs before I have the dish washer do another demonstration.”

Kitchen personnel scattered. Dean Winchester entered the room, and a small nervous man clutching a clipboard followed behind. Castiel continued to scowl at Crowley.

“You're the busboy?” Dean asked Castiel.

“I'm the dishwasher,” he deadpanned, not taking his eyes from the chef. “Do you have a whetstone?” he demanded of Crowley.

“That will improve things you think?” mused Crowley, who was now twiddling a carving knife.

“Your knives will still be shit. But they will be sharp.”

“Good enough for me. Will one of you idiots GET ME A WHETSTONE.” After a pause, there was a rustling, and at least three different people placed implements of various shapes and sizes on the table in front of Crowley. “Take your pick,” he told Castiel. Castiel grabbed a long sharpening steel and, pausing only to pick up a few of the knives, strode over to an empty station.

“I need to talk to you, Castiel,” said Dean, who followed along.

“You don't really have time for this, Dean,” said the nervous man behind him, who was now tapping his clipboard with a pen.

“I have time, Chuck. Don't freak.”

Castiel stuck the steel on the table, but did not apply any of the knives to it. Instead, he spread his hands around it and closed his eyes. Muttering a few words in a strange language, he scowled and gave his fingers a slight twitch. There was a crackle, and the steel sparked slightly. Castiel opened his eyes and grabbed one of the knives.

Dean blinked in surprise. “So, you use magic.”

“Yes, I use magic,” grumbled Castiel, who was already expertly scraping a knife along the magicked steel.

“We haven't been introduced. I'm Dean-”

“Winchester. Yes.” Castiel held up the knife, watching the blade flash in the kitchen light.

“Yeah. So anyway, the reason we brought you here-”

“You kidnapped me.”

“Well, technically-”

“Dean,” said Chuck, _sotto voce_. “Do I need to point out he has a knife? Actually, several knives?”

Dean hushed Chuck with a gesture. Castiel ran the knife up and down the steel again. “Uh. Is it sharp yet?” Dean asked.

Castiel reached over and tore a sheet of paper off Chuck's clipboard. While Chuck was still standing there, sputtering in protest, he ran the knife through it. It fell apart with barely a rip. “Yeah. Sharp.”

“Fucking A, Dean!” said Chuck.

“I wanted to ask you about your dad,” Dean persisted.

“What about him?”

“Well, when was the last you saw him?”

Castiel glanced at his hand, his fingers wiggling up and down as if he were counting down. “Approximately three years, two months, and eleven days ago.”

“Okay. And, you haven't heard anything since?”

Castiel finally looked up at Dean. He glared. “If I had, would I be here?”

“Maybe, maybe not?”

“I would choose to give up my inheritance to work scrubbing your filthy dishes?”

“Look, dude. I have responsibilities too! In case you haven't noticed, there's not exactly a whole lot of us, and we're keeping the Enemy at bay. And the swords my guys are using, they're not up to the job.”

“They're utter shit. I've seen them,” Castiel sniffed, turning back to his knives. “Worse than the cutlery.”

“Yeah, I'm real grateful for the opinion of a busboy.”

“I'm not the busboy. I'm the dishwasher.”

Crowley and a couple of sous-chefs now crowded around. “So what's going on with my knives?”

Castiel snatched a carrot off another counter and in a blur of metal had it diced.

“Excellent!” said Crowley. “My dear boy, you are no longer the dishwasher, you are hereafter and eternally on prep. Someone get him a station.”

“I was just up all night washing dishes,” Castiel groused.

“You can have nap time afterwards. I will even read you a charming bedtime story! All about a psychotic little cook. Julienning before play, we always say.”

“The other dormitory residents won't let me sleep.”

Crowley took a step forward. He reached out and cupped Castiel's face. “My lovely knife-happy boy, I promise, if you slice and dice for me now, I will personally go and _murder_ every other single resident of that dormitory.”

Castiel stared for a moment. “All right.”

The sous-chefs, both of whom now shared a dormitory with Castiel, both shuddered.

“Are we done?” Castiel asked Dean. 

Dean nodded and made his way out, Chuck hot on his heels. Dean stopped and once again admired the cleaver Cas had embedded in the door. He grabbed it on his way out. Chuck flinched back, but then kept up his pursuit as Dean hefted the cleaver.

“That was unproductive,” Chuck sniffed, keeping well back of the blade.

“The thing I don't get, I could swear some of those good swords we’ve been seeing are new.”

“And you seriously think Mr. Stabby Pants in there forged them, Dean?”

“Well.” Dean twirled the cleaver. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You're gonna lose a digit that way!''

Dean grinned an evil grin and let the cleaver spin around twice in his hand. Chuck actually gulped.

“Uh. We have a lot on the agenda,” said Chuck, eyeing the clipboard.

“I'm gonna go talk to Sam.”

“What?”

“I said I'm gonna go talk to Sam. I'll be back in a bit.” Dean flung the cleaver up into the air and turned up a staircase, leaving Chuck in the hallway looking up, terrified. The cleaver spun and came down and he cowered. But at the last minute, Dean stuck out a hand and caught it by the handle. And then he hurried on up the staircase, leaving Chuck fuming in the hallway.

Chuck looked up and down, and then put his hand into his jacket and pulled out a flask. He took a rather generous swig, and then continued on down the hallway.

 

The lights switched on in the dormitory, and Crowley marched in. All of the personnel, from busboy to sous-chef, stood at attention. Crowley, with Castiel following behind him, walked over to the bunk in the very back corner of the room.

“Who is here?”

“Uh. Me, Chef.”

Crowley ripped off the bedding and thrust it at the boy who's spoken. “Not anymore,” he told him. And then, nodding to Castiel, and giving everyone in the room a good glare, he strode out.

Castiel calmly laid his own bedding down on the corner bunk and then, being careful to take out the very long, very sharp knife he was now carrying, stuck it underneath his pillow, and then bedded down.


	3. Chapter 3

The burning smell was what he remembered.

That, and his mother’s terrified face.

Dean hurtled downstairs from his room towards the nursery, small bare feet smacking on the stone stairs. He didn’t have a light. He didn’t need one. He had thought to get one of Daddy’s swords, but he was still too short to reach up and grab it.

At last he was at baby Sammy’s room. Mary, his mother, bent over the crib, her face lined with worry.

“Where’s Daddy?”

Mary gathered up Sam in her arms and turned to Dean. “Dean. Baby. I need you to do something, honey. I need you to take Sammy, and go down the back staircase. The back staircase. You know the way.”

“Yes, Mommy,” said Dean, obediently taking his baby brother in his arms. “Is Daddy coming?”

Mary crouched down so she could be at eye level with her son. “Yes. Daddy will come soon. Meanwhile, you need to take Sammy.” 

Dean looked up in wonder. His mom was crying. He didn’t want her to cry. “We’ll be all right!” he assured her.

“Of course you will!” Mary told him, giving him a kiss on the forehead. “Now I need you to go. Right now! Please hurry, baby.”

Dean nodded and, clutching the baby to his chest, ran towards the back door. He had just crossed the threshold when he heard the front door crash open.

Dean turned. It was a man: a big man, carrying a sword. It was one of those special swords, one of the ones that made the hair on your arms stand up when you tried to hold it. Flames licked behind him, his eyes showing a weird, yellowy color.

“Greetings, Mrs. Winchester.”

“Azazel.”

Mary stood her ground. She raised an arm, and said some of her words. Mommy had powerful words. They could make you feel woozy, or pin somebody to the wall.

But the man didn’t fall. He didn’t look scared at all. Instead, he blinked, and his eyes seemed to glow yellow in the firelight.

He lunged, impaling Mary on the blade. She sunk to her knees, one arm still outstretched.

“MOMMY!” screamed Dean.

The yellow-eyed man looked up, flashing his malevolent gaze on Dean. But Mary, with her last breath, swung her arm, and the back door slammed shut, shutting out Dean and Sam.

Dean gulped. And then, clasping Sammy to his chest and choking back tears, he ran, down and down and down, away from the fire and the blood, and into the darkness.

And then he was sitting up in bed, bathed in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. Slowly, Dean came back to the present, gazing around his room in the darkness. He sighed and got up, grabbing a robe from where it had been tossed carelessly over a chair. He shuffled to the door and traversed the short that separated his living quarters from his office. He turned on a light, and sat at his desk, rummaging in a bottom drawer.

A very familiar knock sounded at the door. “Yeah. C’mon in, Sammy,” Dean called. He smiled up at his brother, grateful for the company. He located the portrait he had been looking for, and brought it out to sit on the desk.

“You’re up late,” said Sam, not commenting about the small cameo of their mother. He was clutching a couple of very large, very old volumes to his chest.

“Nightmares,” said Dean. He ran a thumb over the image of his mother's face. “What about you?”

“Well, I was thinking.”

“Never a good idea.”

“The bladesmith?”

“Yeah. Castiel. What about him?”

“He’s a magic user. According to reports.”

“I’ve seen him. Use magic, I mean.”

“Oh!” Sam plopped down opposite Dean and regarded his big brother. He carefully set his books on the floor. “So, we’re going to-“

“We’re gonna _nothing_.”

“What? Look, Dean. I know he's not what we expected. But we went through a lot getting him over here. Why not just let him in the forge-”

“Because I said so.” Dean picked up the portrait and inserted it back in his bottom desk drawer. He pushed the drawer shut.

“Dean.”

“What we're gonna do, we're gonna leave him in the kitchen. For now. Look, maybe I'll change my mind, but for now, just trust me, okay?”

Sam didn't look at all convinced, but he nodded. 

“And you - you should get to bed.”

Sam forced a smile and picked up the volumes by his feet. “Got some light reading first.”

“Bookworm,” said Dean. “Find me my magic bullet?”

“Not yet,” said Sam, who rose and stretched. “But some day.”

“G'night, Sammy.”

 

“How the actual fuck did you get on prep?”

Castiel placed another slice of pineapple in his mouth. He fiddled it around with his tongue until it made a smile, he flashed at Kevin and Garth, who were now sitting across the table from him, open-mouthed. Neither of them seemed terribly amused – Samandriel had always thought this kind of thing to be hilarious – so, disappointed, he chewed up the pineapple while he considered. He found that though he generally hated the South so far, he liked southern fruits a whole lot. 

“Knife skills,” he finally said. They were seated in the kitchen, but off in a relatively quiet corner. After Castiel had gotten several hours of blissfully uninterrupted sleep he had learned to his delight that kitchen workers, unlike almost all of the rest of the personnel, were not restricted to any set mealtimes. He had wandered into the kitchen, along with his two friends (he supposed that now Kevin and Garth were friends), expressed a desire to eat, and had then found himself at a table spread with an array of leftover bits of various breakfasts, lunches and dinners.

“Well, darn it all to heck, I knew it,” sighed Garth.

“I could show you,” Castiel offered, fingering his knife. He found that although it was of inferior construction, it was more convenient to carry around than his sword. And Crowley had warned him against carrying swords in the kitchen. It did make sense: it could probably trip someone, or turn over a pot.

“Seriously?” asked Garth. “I ain't never been one for pointy objects.”

“That's because your knives are dull. Sharp blades are no danger. Except to people who get in my way.”

Kevin and Garth looked at each other and nodded. This sounded promising. 

The door banged open and Chuck was suddenly standing in their midst, clipboard in hand. The staff, as one, ignored him.

“Wait staff duty tonight. I'm looking for volunteers.”

“Where's Crowley?” someone shouted.

“The Winchesters are having some special guests so I'm in charge,” Chuck fired back, just as someone launched a towel at his head. “Who did this?” he sputtered, waving the greasy towel. No one replied so he tossed it on the ground. “You!” he said to the first person passing him by. “And you!” he said, identifying another person. He scribbled the names on his clipboard.

“Wait staff?” Castiel whispered to Kevin and Garth.

“They must be having Lucifer's crowd over,” Kevin told him. “Oh God I hate them.”

“They're from a neighboring fort, I take it?”

“Neighbors, but things ain't exactly neighborly, if you get my drift,” said Garth.

“That's why they tolerate Crowley's annoying ass,” said Kevin. “You bring 'em over and feed 'em, and according to tradition, it keeps everybody happy.”

“Does it work?” asked Castiel.

“No,” said Kevin.

“Not in the least,” said Garth.

“You! You three. You're all up.” Chuck began to scribble on his clipboard.

“But I didn't volunteer!” Kevin protested.

“I've never waited tables before,” Castiel told him.

Chuck narrowed his eyes. “It doesn't matter. Dean insisted you be on the list, Blade Man.”

Castiel began to fiddle with his knife, caused Chuck to high-tail it out of their vicinity.

“Don't worry. We can help you, Castiel,” said Garth. 

“You'll have to dress for it,” Kevin added.

Castiel looked them over. “What?”

 

“I don't see the point of a necktie?”

“How do you keep unraveling it? Stop!” grumbled Kevin. But Garth was the one to try and re-knot the disaster around Castiel's neck. 

“You ain't never worn a suit and tie before, Castiel?” asked Garth.

“I've had no use for it.” They had managed to assemble him a suit of clothes that almost fit, although he had to keep his belt tightened to keep the pants up, and they had finally rolled up the cuffs on the jacket. He stared critically into the cracked mirror on the wall. “Why is this necessary to deliver food items?”

“What exactly did you do back in your little town?” asked Kevin.

“I made swords.”

“And that's it?”

Castiel tilted his head. “Sometimes, knives.”

Kevin and Garth glanced at each other, Kevin rolling his eyes. “You didn't like, go date girls or something?” Kevin asked.

“I had a business to run, and two younger brothers to tend to.”

Kevin and Garth looked at each other again, and Kevin shrugged in defeat. “Now, you got the concept?” he asked. “The big thing is not to trip. Or get tripped.”

“I think I can maintain stability.”

“This is an important deal, dude,” warned Kevin. “This is the reason we snatched Crowley from Lucifer.”

Cas paused. “I'm sorry? Crowley was … kidnapped?

Kevin and Garth exchanged a glance. “Well, yeah, sure,” said Garth.

“He's a really good chef,” said Kevin. “So we stole him. Fair and square!”

Castiel looked deeply offended. “Is kidnapping the standard procedure for you people?” he demanded.

The door burst open and Kevin and Garth turned around. “Hey, we're changing,” Kevin grumbled. And then, “Oh!”

“Hello, Dean,” sighed Castiel into the mirror as Kevin and Garth both cringed back to the side of the room.

“Wanted to see how you guys were doing. Oh, hey, what the hell, Cas?” He held Castiel by the shoulders and spun him around, scowling at the veritable hangman's noose the bladesmith had fashioned his tie into. “This isn't right. Here.” He started untangling it.

“Is this an occasion of some import?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah. I suppose the guys have told you. It's a tradition. A dumb tradition.” He looked up at Kevin and Garth. “Could you guys maybe...?” He inclined his head, and Kevin and Garth scurried out of the room and shut the door behind them.

Castiel scowled. “I'm sorry-” 

“Hold still, almost done here.” Dean pulled gently on the tie and then righted Castiel's collar. “You're great. See that? That's how you tie a Winchester knot!” He pulled Castiel around again so he was facing the mirror. 

“I thought it was termed a Windsor knot?”

“That's where you've been wrong.” Dean pulled over the one battered chair in the small changing room and sat down backwards in it, leaning his forearms over the back. Castiel stood awkwardly in front of him as Dean raked a thumb over his mouth and quite frankly looked him up and down. “Okay, tonight: we’ve got people from Lucifer's outpost over. Including old Lucy himself. Oh, and don't call him that! At least not to his face. We're in a state of truce, though I don't trust the sons of bitches. But here's where you come in, Cas: they'll be carrying sidearms.”

Castiel gave himself a moment to mull over Dean's words. He self-consciously crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Swords?”

“Now, we're having a disagreement. Bobby thinks – you met Bobby, right? - now Bobby thinks they've got a source for high quality weaponry. I think it's crap. And Sam is neutral, because that's my brother for you.”

“You'd like me to make observations?”

“Hell yeah. You're the man for this. Believe me, those guys, they're not gonna give a waiter a second glance. I mean, even if they should.” Dean smiled awkwardly, as if he had just put his foot in his mouth, and then glanced down at something on the floor. “Uh. Anyway.” 

“Your armory is utter shit.”

Dean's face shot up. “Yeah, yeah, you've told me.”

“I could craft better blades.” Cas straightened up. “In my sleep,” he added.

Dean rose to his feet, sweeping the chair away. “Well, we'll see. All right? Tonight, I need your help. We need your help.” He paused and then approached Castiel again, fussing with his tie. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Castiel glared. “You kidnapped Crowley.”

Dean grinned mischievously. “Uh. I guess. Technically. But he totally prefers us to Lucifer.”

“You thought I was my father when you gave the order to kidnap me. Didn't you?”

Dean stepped back and bit his lip. “Look. It wasn't.... You gotta understand-”

There was a timid rap on the door. “Uh, Dean?” came Garth's voice. 

“We gotta go, man!” came Kevin's voice.

Dean nodded curtly to Castiel and then opened the door and strode out. Kevin and Garth poured back in. 

“We gotta get you to the kitchen,” said Kevin, tugging on Castiel's sleeve.

“Now, when you're taking orders for a table,” Garth told him, “always remember to go clockwise, so you'll keep it straight. And everybody gets a number....”

 

As it turned out, the night's assignment was easier than Castiel had imagined. It was a banquet, so everyone got the same food items at around the same time. And though the banquet room was noisy, Castiel actually preferred it to the kitchen, where Crowley was now screaming himself hoarse demanding perfection in each and every item.

Castiel heeded Kevin's warning about tripping, but he had always possessed a good sense of balance, so Chuck (who for some reason was temporarily overseeing the wait staff) soon assigned him to the tables with Lucifer's men, as they seemed to delight in harassing the kitchen staff. It was just as well, as Castiel was afforded a good chance to look over their weapons. He realized almost immediately, and to his slight annoyance, that he agreed with Dean: the swords looked good from a distance, but were rather obviously poorly made. 

Lucifer himself was up at a table with Sam, Dean, Bobby, and a few men Castiel didn't recognize. He had been warned by Crowley himself to stay far away, and so had obeyed. He really didn't have much motivation to be around Dean Winchester, the person who had ruined his life.

“So what are you doing after your shift, angel?” asked one of Lucifer's men as Castiel reached over him to retrieve an empty plate. 

“Washing dishes,” Castiel told him, straightening up and then rapidly side-stepping so another guy couldn't trip him. There was a round of chuckling Castiel didn't quite understand, and he stepped away. 

He passed Garth just as the teen was himself being tripped, and managed to catch him by the back of his shirt and yank him upright before he spilled too much of his tray. “Thanks, Cas,” Garth whispered, and Castiel rankled slightly that Dean's new nickname seemed to have caught on.

He headed down a short corridor and pushed into the swinging doors that demarcated the kitchen. “Does this look like a finished plate to you?” Crowley was screaming at an unlucky soul hovering by a series of plates of main courses waiting to go out. The chef brought out a fresh clean towel and rubbed at an invisible spot on the side of the plate, was heaped with a great fat piece of chicken (Crowley had evidently located fowl somewhere that were not just bags of bones) and roast potatoes. Castiel's stomach growled, though it was fortunately a low growl. Between getting suited up and all the instructions he hadn't had a chance to eat before his shift, and the dish smelled quite rich and garlicky.

“All right, what are you standing there for?” Crowley barked at the loitering servers. “Let's get this chicken out before it dies of old age. You!” he said, poking Castiel in the chef. “Knife Boy. Where are you?”

“Table three, Chef,” said Castiel, glaring down at Crowley's pointing finger.

“This is going to the head table,” he said, pointing to a tray that was already filled. “You follow me. You seem to be the only idiot here not tripping over his own feet.” Crowley straightened up and marched out, and Castiel lifted the tray and followed him. “ _Pollo al ajillo_ ,” Crowley announced as they arrived at the table. Castiel began to lay down plates, starting with Lucifer as the honored guest and then proceeding clockwise. They were seated around a round table, as Kevin had explained that short circuited any fighting about who sat where. 

“Chicken,” said Lucifer.

“I hope and pray it will be to your satisfaction,” said Crowley, giving a slight bow.

Lucifer looked him up and down, and then turned to Dean. “You really ought to come over soon. We'd offer you a nice steak.”

Crowley bristled. “This poultry has been hand-raised. By myself. It is only the finest.”

Lucifer had cut a tiny portion, not bothering to wait for anyone else to be served, and popped it in his mouth. He smiled slightly and pushed his plate back. “You know what I'm really in the mood for? I'd really like a burger. I don't suppose you have anything like that around here?”

“You know,” said Dean, pushing his own plate back, “I could go for a burger too.” He nodded at his brother, who suddenly hopped up and went around to Crowley.

“Hey, yeah, let's see what we can scrape up,” said Sam, leading a fuming Crowley from the room. Dean looked at Castiel and nodded slightly. Castiel hurried over and picked up Dean's and Lucifer's plates, while the rest continued eating.

“You stole our waiter!”

Castiel swerved in time to avoid colliding with the loud guy from his own table. They guy held a wine glass, was slopping over as he swayed. 

“Alastair,” said Lucifer evenly. “Why don't you get back to your table?”

“Hey, angel. Why did you abandon me?” Alastair slurred to Castiel. 

“My name is Castiel De Angelus. It is not Angel. Nor is it Cas,” Cas told him, shooting a glare at Dean. Lucifer looked up in surprise.

Alastair took a lurching step towards Castiel, who deftly side-stepped. With a loud crash, Alastair ended up face down on the floor. There was a brief silence, and then the room erupted in laughter. He pushed himself up to sitting, rubbing his split chin, and glaring furiously at Castiel.

Dean shot to his feet. Lucifer remained in his seat, although his affable mien had suddenly dissolved. “Alastair,” he growled in a timbre that sent shivers through Castiel's spine. “Get back to your table. Now.”

Dean was looking at Castiel. He flicked his eyes towards the kitchen. Castiel nodded slightly and then, trying very hard to walk slowly and deliberately, headed back towards the kitchen, laughter echoing behind him.

Crowley was supervising a sous-chef in the preparation of a couple of hamburgers while Sam waited patiently at his side. Crowley looked over at Castiel as he set down the nearly untouched plates. “Just toss those out.” Castiel cringed, and his stomach rumbled again.

“Wait, can I have a bite?” asked Sam. “Mine is in there getting cold!” Castiel handed him a clean fork, and Sam bent over and served himself a big bite from his brother's plate. “Damn, this is delicious, Crowley!”

“Flattery … will get you everywhere. Yes, Castiel, go ahead! Better than having you serving with your stomach rattling like the oncoming Enemy.”

Castiel gratefully grabbed a fork and sent some pollo al ajillo towards his hungry gullet. Crowley turned back to the sous-chef to yell insults at his cooking ability.

“Does the Enemy really sound like that, Sam?” Castiel whispered.

Sam hopped up on the counter and put the plate on his lap. “No. They actually sound like nothing at all. By the time you see them, it's usually too late.”

Castiel shuddered.

“And sometimes … sometimes they travel underground! Then you just hear the ground rumbling. That's the mature ones. At least, I think it's the mature ones. I think they start off small and grow really large as they get older.” 

Castiel stared at him, ignoring, for the moment, the delicious chicken on his plate. “Isn't that how things work with most creatures?”

“Nobody knows!” Sam threw his arms up, cause a bit of chicken from the end of his fork to go flying. “That's what's so cool about these creatures. We don't know how they reproduce, or even if they reproduce. We don't know about their lifespan. We don't even know what the hell they eat!”

“I thought they devoured men?”

“Meat can't be their source of nutrition, they'd die! I don't know. What we need to do, you know, is just follow them around for a while, see what makes them tick.”

“But … aren't you afraid of them?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You ask me, Cas, we're under a lot more danger from guys like Lucifer.”

“Other humans?”

“People. They're always the worst.”

Crowley had bustled over. “We have two … _hamburgers_.” He wrinkled his nose.

“I can take 'em out,” said Sam, reaching for the plates.

“No! Absolutely not. There are a few things, believe it or not, that my kitchen staff can still handle. Castiel?”

Cas hurriedly stuffed as much _pollo al ajillo_ into his mouth as he could bear, and grabbed the plates.

“You didn't say you were half squirrel!” Sam laughed. “Thanks Chef,” he told Crowley. “We owe you one.”

“You owe me many!” the chef yelled after him as Sam followed along with Castiel.

“Where is Lucifer?” Castiel whispered as they neared the head table and saw the empty chair next to Dean.

“Aw, fuck him,” grumbled Sam. “Just don't tell Crowley. He'll stab something. Or somebody. We've got two burgers here,” said Sam as Castiel set down the plates.

“Awesome. I'm hungry as hell,” said Dean as Bobby glared. “Mmm. Lucifer doesn't know what he's missing. Thanks, Cas!”

Castiel gave a curt nod and stifled a garlicky burp. “Oh, so that's where my chicken went,” Dean whispered. Castiel blushed. “That's okay, glad it went to good use.”

Sam mouthed, _“What the fuck?”_ , inclining his head at Lucifer's empty chair, and Dean shrugged. Castiel turned to go but noticed that some more kitchen staff were wheeling out a cart with the big cake the pastry chefs had whipped up for dessert. He turned around and decided to take the back way into the kitchen, hoping that Crowley hadn't yet dumped his plate of garlic chicken.

“Castiel De Angelus, I believe? Well, fancy meeting you here.”

He halted and turned around. “Lucifer,” he said quietly. How had the guy concealed himself in the shadows so well? It was creepy.

“Good, so we won't have to waste time on introductions. So how do you like your new job, scrubbing pots and pans for the Winchesters?”

“How do you know who I am?”

Lucifer smiled and extended a hand. “I have ears just about everywhere. I'm a big fan.”

Cas merely scowled at the extended hand. “A … what?”

“Why, your blades of course. De Angelus. You might not know this, but they're the only ones that really stand up to the Enemy. And that's _my_ job.” Ignoring Cas's snub, he spread out his hands. “Protecting the world. We're the last line of defense!”

Castiel nodded, but didn't reply. He thought he should make an excuse and get back to the kitchen, but his legs didn't seem to work.

“So, we need to get you making blades, don't we?”

Castiel shrugged. “I don't know.”

“You don't know? I thought it would seem pretty clear. I know if you were living at my outpost, that's what we'd have you doing. Not scurrying around like some kind of … servant.”

“We're wait staff, not servants,” Castiel groused, not certain why the words had come tumbling out.

“You're defending the Winchesters? Really?”

“I need to get back to the kitchen.”

“Well, that's too bad. But I enjoyed our little chat.” Castiel had already turned around and headed towards the kitchen. “Castiel,” Lucifer called after him. “I hope we'll get to chat some more.”

Cas burst through the swinging doors, catching his breath.

“What's the matter, dude?” asked Kevin. “They trip you or something? 

“Nothing. I'm fine.”

“We're supposed to be out serving cake. Hey, do you smell like … garlic?”

“Lucifer wanted hamburger.” Castiel turned and strode out of the kitchen.

“Wait. What?” Kevin followed behind.

Castiel made his way back to the banquet room. The men were all on their feet now, crowded together around the cake. Crowley was standing in back of it, looking it over pridefully as Dean held a knife and made some sort of speech. He must have just made a joke, as the men were laughing. Everyone had drunk their share of wine, and the room was noisy.

Castiel's eyes scanned the room for Alastair, as he wanted to avoid him. There he was, off in a corner away from where the main crowd had gathered, talking furtively with another man. To Castiel's surprise, it was Virgil, one of Dean's crew. Alastair, who suddenly appeared quite sober, was hanging on one of Virgil's shoulders, whispering something in his ear. 

“Do you see that?” he asked Kevin.

“Those two? Figures. They're both dicks.”

“Virgil is from _our_ staff.”

“So?”

“I think I need to warn Dean.”

“Warn Dean? Warn him about what?”

Ignoring Kevin, Castiel began to make his way around the back of the crowd, keeping an eye on Alastair and Virgil. He noticed that Garth was obliviously busing tables nearby, and he also noticed that Alastair and Virgil saw him too. He stopped, uncertain what to do. He wanted to get Dean's attention, but he didn't feel right abandoning his friend, not when both of the bullies seemed to have it in for Garth.

Castiel steeled himself and started threading back through the boisterous crowd towards the far corner. Alastair and Virgil split up, each one heading towards Garth from a different side. Castiel increased his pace, but Virgil reached Garth first. Garth straightened up from the table and, not seeming to notice Virgil, turned around as Virgil extended a foot to trip him. But for once the skinny teen noticed what was coming, and he managed to dance around without losing his balance. Virgil scowled and took a swing at Garth. 

Castiel gasped.

Garth ducked and swung his tray full force into Virgil's midsection. The big man huffed and sunk to his knees. But then Alastair was on Garth, wrenching him by the back of his collar and throwing him like a rag doll. Garth smacked into the wall and started to sink down.

Castiel jumped up on the table and, threading through plates and dishes, ran across and hopped down just in time to grab Alastair by the back of the shirt as he lunged at Garth. Alastair grabbed Castiel by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall, where he suddenly froze when he felt Castiel's blade under his chin.

“Alastair!” At some point, people in the room had begun to pay attention. Lucifer and Dean had somehow whisked across the room to stand nearby. Alastair took a look at his boss and then, raising his hands, stepped back from Castiel.

“Castiel!” 

Cas looked over to a red-faced Dean and lowered his blade. “Dean.”

“Get out of here. Now!”

“But, Dean-”

“Is said out! _Now!_ ”

Castiel breathed hard, glaring at Dean. He glanced over to make sure that Garth was all right. He was being helped by Kevin. 

And then he turned and stalked out of the room, blinking back angry tears.

He marched down the hall and into the dormitory. He threw his few possessions into his bag, and, hiking it on his shoulder, grabbed his sword, and was away. Away from the fort, away from the desert, and most of all, away from Dean Winchester.

 

“I should get him.”

“I'll get him. We gotta get him before Lucifer tracks him down.”

Sam stood and watched his idiot brother tear around the room, tossing random crap into his bag. “You sure you're gonna need that letter opener, Dean?”

“I will when I stab him through the heart.”

“Dean! Look, it would be much quicker if I just go. I'm faster.”

“Yeah, 'cause you're built like a giraffe.”

“Actually, giraffes aren’t terribly fast. Their top speed-“

“Sammy! Do I look like I care?”

“And I'm the better tracker. And … to be honest, I'm not sure he's gonna wanna come back with you.”

“And he'd come back with you?”

“He likes me.” Sam gave a smug smile, partly because he knew it would make Dean slightly crazy. Not that he wasn't already slightly crazy.

There was a rap on the door, but before either brother could answer, they had a room full of Bobby Singer to deal with.

“What the fuck are you aiming to do, Dean?”

“He's going to get Cas,” supplied Sam.

“The fuck you are!”

Dean grimaced and picked up some salt-filled rounds. “What, did Chuck tattle on me again?” Dean tossed the rounds into his bag.

“Dean, those won't do much good without a rifle.”

“I know, Sam!”

Bobby planted his feet and crossed his arms. “And what if he don't wanna come back with you?”

“Then I'll hit the little son of a bitch over the head and drag his ass back here.” Dean zipped up his pack and grabbed a shotgun from the wall.

“Is there no appealing to your good goddamn sense?” railed Bobby.

“He's got no good sense,” smiled Sam.

“I'm going to get him,” Dean told him. “I'll be back soon.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Damn! You got a lot further than I thought.”

Dean dropped his pack in front of Castiel, who was sitting on a pile of rocks. He had removed his suit jacket and put it over his head. Unwrapping the bottom of his keffiyeh, Dean dug around in his pack and removed a jug of water, he proffered to Castiel. The bladesmith remained stubbornly motionless.

“Did you even bring any water? Look, you need to drink this, unless you think I can carry you back.”

Castiel glared.

“Cas, look,” said Dean, sitting down opposite with a sigh and taking a good drink of water. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve. 

“My name … is _Castiel_.” His voice was the rasp a door makes when you don't remember to oil the hinges.

Dean shook his head. “I'm sorry. Okay? Things between us and Lucifer's crew … they're dicey right now. I had to get you out of there.”

“Virgil was spying!”

“Yeah. I know.”

Castiel stared at him. “You knew?”

“Yeah. He took off with them, by the way. He's gone.”

“Oh.” 

“We guess he headed out with their crew when they left.” Dean handed over the water jug once again, and Castiel, letting the jacket fall from over his head and onto his shoulders, took a sip. “Look, I'm sorry. But I didn't think they'd pick up on who you were like that. I thought-”

“You thought I was my father.”

“Yeah. And you're not. You're a just kid.”

“I'm not a child.”

“Cas. We didn't wanna make things dangerous for you. I didn't wanna make things dangerous.”

“You failed.”

“Well. Yeah. But you're lucky. They might have found you before we did.”

“And what? I would have made swords for them? My trade?”

“Cas, you don't understand. I know Crowley is annoying as shit. But Lucifer? He'd chain you in the dungeon and have you at the forge until you died of exhaustion.”

“So you admit I'm a bladesmith?” He took another long swig of water as Dean fumbled in his backpack again. 

Dean tossed him an orange. “Heard you like these.” Cas caught it. He hungrily tore it in half and raised the fruit to his lips. He devoured it like he had never tasted anything so delicious. “So, you think you could make us some swords?”

Cas picked some pith from between his teeth. “No.”

Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. “Wait. What?”

“What you are asking is for me to make you quality weapons. I cannot do that. Not with the materials you have at hand.”

“What do we need?”

“Your steel is shit. Weapons made from shit are still shit, no matter how much magic you apply. This is Lucifer's mistake.”

“What do we need? Tell me. I'll get it for you.”

Cas’s head lolled to the side, like an inquisitive puppy. “I need good Damascus steel. It's the only kind.”

“All right. We'll get it.”

Castiel wiped orange juice from his mouth. “How the hell will you do that?”

Dean grinned. “Remember, I have friends in low places.”

“Benny?” Castiel's eyes lit up.

“You met Captain Lafitte on the way over.” Dean shifted to sit next to Castiel on the outcropping. When Castiel did not object, he leaned over close and untangled the unholy mess Castiel had made of his tie. He pulled it off and tossed it in the bag.

“Benny said....”

“What did he say?”

“He said he'd ask about my brothers.”

Dean looked pained. “Sam told me you had brothers.”

“Inias and Samandriel. My younger brothers. I'm- I’m really worried about them, Dean.”

“You have a brother, Sam, too?” muttered Dean. Cas’s eyes were getting watery, and Dean found he longed to put a an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, well.... All right, you might as well know this. It was Benny that let us know Metatron was moving in on your territory. Metatron, he has a history. He's been taking over weapons shops all over the North. That's why it's getting hard for us to get armaments out here. We don't have anyone here who's got the skills and the magic.”

“I didn't know that. I usually don't pay attention to that kind of stuff.” He squinted at Dean. “You thought.... You thought you were protecting me?”

“Yeah, that's what we thought. We fucked up. Major league.”

Castiel nodded, absorbing what Dean had told him, although he felt a little light-headed from the sun. “Look, how about we get you back to the outpost?” Dean asked softly. “You could maybe relax for a while.”

Castiel got to his feet, although he found he was a little shaky. “I missed my shift on prep. Crowley will not be pleased.”

“Crowley can fuck himself,” said Dean. He had grabbed another scarf from his pack and was tying it around Castiel's head. “Besides, you're out of the kitchen. I want you on patrol.”

Cas blinked as Dean fixed the knot underneath his chin. “I'm not a soldier, Dean.”

“No, I know that. I'll put you with some good guys. Don't worry. I just think you need to see what we're up against.” Having satisfied himself that Castiel's keffiyeh was straight, he doffed his jacket and handed it over. 

“That's your jacket, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know it's my fucking jacket. Put it on. You'll sunburn right through that shirt.”

Castiel held the jacket, but hesitated.

“You're in my patrol now,” Dean said softly. “That's an order.”

Cas let the suit jacket fall from his shoulders and donned instead Dean's jacket, was a little too big for him. Dean pulled it tight and smiled. “Is it far?” Castiel asked.

“Hey, you should have thought of that before you started walking! But no, if we go by the most direct route, maybe an hour.”

Castiel looked crestfallen. “Only an hour?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, you obviously need help with this desert survival thing. Come on.”

 

“No bladesmith. And no chef,” grumbled Lucifer as he and Uriel marched down the corridor towards his office. “Virgil, our spy, was compromised. And my fucking hamburger was cold.”

“Sorry I missed it,” said Uriel.

“Worst day of my life,” muttered Lucifer, opening his office door to find a stunning redhead sitting in his chair, her boots up on his desk. “Who in hell are you?”

The woman, who was busily applying a string of dental floss to her molars, signaled to wait. She then expertly balled up the floss and batted it into the waste basket. “Sorry, boss, those blueberry tarts were hell on my enamel.”

“What blueberry tarts?”

“The ones on the platter,” she said, indicating a plate on Lucifer’s desk now contained only crumbs. “I assumed they were to share.”

Lucifer had a glint of murder in his eyes. “Like I said, who are you?”

“Abaddon. Your new psychic. Since you broke the last one.” She shot a derisive glance at him.

“That was Lilith's fault,” sulked Lucifer. “I'm not going to take the blame for that.”

“Well, we're gonna do things my way this time,” said Abaddon, swinging her feet down and standing up. “Follow me,” she added, brushing past them out of the office.

Lucifer lunged at her, pushing her up against the wall, his sword at her throat. “Understand this. Nobody talks to me like that.”

Abaddon grinned and pointed down, where she had a stiletto at his belly. “Wanna dance?” she asked.

Lucifer released his grip.

Uriel's own hand was on his hilt. “But-”

“Let's get lost,” said Abaddon, breezing out of the office.

“I like this one,” Lucifer whispered to Uriel. He hurried after Abaddon, and Uriel hastened after them. They walked down to the room Lilith had recently used. The floor around the table was now covered in markings.

Abaddon stood, hands on hips. “All right, so ground rules, since I don't wanna end up taking my meals through a straw. See this circle on the floor? When we're chatting with Metatron, you do not break the circle, you do not step outside the circle.

Uriel leaned over and looked at the bowl in the center of the table. It was filled with what looked like blue-tinged water. “That isn't virgin's blood.”

“Red didn't go with my outfit.”

“What is it?” Uriel persisted.

“Whiskey. And blue curacao. Now, let's sit down and talk turkey with Metatron.”

Lucifer nodded to Uriel, and they sat down across the table, being mindful not to disturb any of the sigils scrawled on the floor. They joined hands, and the liquid rose to form an Onyx fort. But quite unlike the last time Lucifer had been scrying, the image of the fort retreated from view in a leisurely manner, and then traveled deliberately across the wastelands and over the sea. Unlike Lilith, Abaddon was keeping her eyes open, and directing her gaze deliberately towards the image in the bowl.

They came upon Metatron, once again, amongst his odd book formations. Even through the odd blue image, he appeared flustered. “What's going on. Lucifer?” This wasn't Abaddon talking this time though: the voice instead seemed to be in Lucifer's head. He nodded to Uriel, who was evidently hearing it too.

“Yes. Hello Metatron,” said Lucifer, glancing at Abaddon, who actually winked.

“What's going on?”

“New psychic.” Lucifer winked back. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yes, you idiots. Where were you?”

“At dinner. At the Red Fort. As you suggested, remember?”

“You were supposed to bring back the bladesmith!”

“Didn't get him this time. Next time.”

“What do you mean _next time_? He was in the desert. Why didn't you go after him?”

Lucifer looked at Uriel, who shrugged. “What the hell was he doing in the desert, anyway?”

Metatron huffed. 

“Metatron,” said Uriel.

“What is it, parrot?”

Uriel frowned. “This parrot would like some backstory.”

Metatron actually sat down his book. “All right. What do you know about Alexandria?”

Uriel and Lucifer exchanged a look.

 

When they returned, Castiel's things had already been moved upstairs to another, smaller dormitory. Although Castiel was a little disappointed that he wasn't able to greet Kevin and Garth, he was also relieved at not having to face Crowley. He kicked off his shoes, and was asleep as soon as his face met the pillow. 

He had some very strange dreams, about creatures that seemed part bug, and part octopus. Even in his sleep, he thought his brother Samandriel would be intrigued. He woke up refreshed, but with an ache in his heart.

After a meal (he wasn't precisely certain whether it counted as breakfast or lunch) and a long shower (where once again he was truly impressed by the water pressure, and also discovered that he was sunburnt, although not as badly as he had feared) he found his way upstairs, to the same area on the roof where he had met Bobby Singer the first day.

A bald, dark-skinned man immediately walked up to him, his hand outstretched. “You're Cas?”

“Um, yes. I'm Castiel. Cas.”

“Victor. Good to meet you. And that's Ash,” he said, pointing to a grinning man sitting on the parapet. “He's fucked up in the head, but he's all right.”

“Uh. Hello, Ash.”

“Hey, Wings!” said Ash, who hopped down and came over. In contrast to Victor, Ash had an elaborately-styled mop of reddish hair.

“I'm sorry?” said Castiel.

“De Angelus, correct?” asked Ash. “I figure you're our guardian angel.”

“I'm a.... I'm a bladesmith, actually.”

“You made your sidearm?” asked Ash, pointing to Castiel's sword. Castiel had figured since he was out of Crowley's domain it was now all right to bring it along. As both men seemed curious about it, he extracted it from the scabbard and presented it to Victor, who made a great show of sighting down the blade while Ash hovered nearby.

“Nice. Damn,” said Victor. “You made this?” he asked, handing it over to Ash.

“Holy sweet Mama! Can you make another?” Ash danced around with the blade, feinting left and right. “Can you make two? Can you be my new best friend?”

Castiel looked over at Victor, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Ash. We're in the presence of company, man. Be normal for five fucking seconds.”

“Normal is boring!” said Ash, handing Castiel back his sword. “Wanna hit the road?” Without waiting for an answer, Ash began to saunter away.

“Like I said, he's fucked in the head. But he's all right,” Victor whispered to Castiel. “So, are you going to secure us some new weaponry?” he asked as they reached a back stairway Castiel hadn't noticed before. “The armaments we've been getting – less than satisfactory.”

“I've requested the procurement of some new materials,” Castiel told him.

“They're gonna have Benny steal 'em!” Ash shot back, and then he disappeared around a bend.

“Won't be the first time,” chuckled Victor. “Besides, who needs good blade steel more than us? We're doing the Lord's work, if you ask me.”

“Fighting the Enemy?”

Victor snorted. “Yeah. Them. And Lucifer.”

“I met Lucifer.”

“I'm sorry. Ash and me, we were out on patrol during the banquet.”

“On purpose?” Castiel guessed.

“I don't mix well with that crowd. Oh, here we go.” They had reached the ground level, but Ash was still nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a great beast came roaring into view. Terrified, Castiel flung himself back against the wall as the behemoth squealed to a stop.

A panel opened somewhere near the front, and Ash popped out. “Cas. Dude. Don't tell me you never seen a car before?”

“A … what?” asked Castiel, who was still shaking.

“You were born and raised in the North, right?” Victor asked.

“Yes.”

“Ash, he's never seen a car before.”

“Well, hot damn! You're in for a treat. This here is a Dodge Challenger. An automotive marvel from the time before the Flood.” He proudly patted the fender. The beast was still making a noise, but it was more like a purring sound than the dull roar it had when it was in motion.

“A car? Is this metal?” Castiel asked, putting a tentative hand on the hood. It was warm! 

“Internal combustion,” said Victor. “Ash?” Ash tugged at something inside the car, and there was a click. Victor put his hand beneath a front panel and tugged. A large metal plate raised up, and the noise suddenly got a lot louder. His chariness overcome by curiosity, Castiel peered over the fender with Victor at the humming marvel housed beneath the hood. “We have access to petroleum products here,” Victor shouted. “Oil and gasoline. Keeps this bugger running.”

Castiel drew back and now walked the length of the car. There were pipes beneath the back wheels that let out a foul-smelling gas. “This car makes emissions, doesn't it?”

Victor smiled. “Hey, smart kid.” He let the hood slam down again, somewhat muffling the sound of the motor. “Yeah, it does. And we're pretty sure it attracts the Enemy. Either the noise or the smoke, we're not sure. So when you're out, we keep to the roads, and it’s best not to stay too long in one place.”

Castiel nodded, now completely intrigued. Victor showed him how to operate the handle on the back door, so he slipped inside, and Ash took off. Castiel was immediately grateful that he had been placed in one of the back seats, as the sense of vertigo was incredible. The desert seemed to fly by.

“Now,” Victor told him, “usually we have a set area to patrol, but Dean says he wants you to see one of them. So we're heading out to an area where we've ascertained recent activity.”

Castiel watched the desert slip by, desperately grasping the seat in front of him. “Sam told me that they're difficult to spot.”

“Not with my little secret baiting machine!” said Ash, hitting the gas pedal. They were just over a rut in the road, and Castiel nearly hit the ceiling.

“Aw, you didn't bring that stupid motor thing, did you?” asked Victor.

“Sure as fuck did. I invented it!”

“I thought Dean invented it?”

“Well,” Ash conceded, “maybe we both invented it.”

“I heard it nearly got Sam and Dean both killed!”

“Aw, they were obviously using it wrong.”

“Well, you are nowhere near my ass when you put that thing out.” Victor puffed air through his cheeks. “If their father had seen this….”

“John? Not likely.” Ash and Victor exchanged a glance.

“Sam and Dean's father?” asked Cas. In truth, his neck was getting tired from all the back and forth between these two, but the kitchen staff occasionally mentioned John Winchester with a sort of reverence usually reserved for the dead, and Castiel was curious.

Ash shook his head, so Victor answered. “John took it pretty bad when he lost his wife.”

“She is dead, then?”

“Yeah. It's been almost twenty years now.” Victor shook his head at the memory. “I was just a cadet at the time. There was a raid. It was unsuccessful, we beat them back. But not before Mary was killed. John was off on patrol. He was convinced that Lucifer was behind it, but the thing was, there wasn't any proof.”

“But Dean still invites Lucifer to dinner?”

“There’s only six outposts. We've all gotta get along, at some level.”

Ash was staring up ahead. “She was a magic user. Mary.”

“Yeah, that's right,” said Victor. “That might be why we can't get a bladesmith worth a damn. After Mary died – she was trying to protect herself with magic, and Dean saw the whole thing, poor kid – John decided that spells were bullshit, and I think he convinced Dean of the same.”

Cas put his elbows over the back of the seat. “You need magic to forge the best blades.”

“Well, you'd think that would be obvious. But there's no convincing John. He's even more hard-headed than his sons.”

Cas was thoughtful. “You said six forts? I thought there were seven? The Seven Sisters?”

“Originally it was seven. One was lost.”

“Lost? How do you lose an entire fortification?”

Victor shrugged. “The Sapphire Fort. It’s mentioned in all the records, but then the mentions stop.”

“It’s another bullshit legend,” Ash volunteered. “Like a bug’s hoard.”

“If you say so,” Victor told him. “I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff out here. A lot of weird stuff.”

Ash finally stopped the car on an overlook over a rather featureless plain. Castiel and Victor took out a pair of binoculars to survey the field while Ash pulled something from the trunk. It looked, to Castiel, like a smaller version of the Challenger's motor. Ash also fished out a can of gasoline and filled the reservoir, and then he clicked a switch and pulled a cord, and the thing sputtered to life and began to rumble and belch an acrid black smoke.

“Will you shut that damn thing down, Ash? I don't want it anywhere near me!”

“Aw, chickenshit.” But Ash clicked another switch, and the motor quieted. He slung it over his back. “I'm gonna head down and find a good spot.”

“You set it down and you get yourself right back up here, understood?” Victor told him. “That shit is dangerous.” Ash shrugged and walked down the hillside. 

Castiel continued to scan the area with Victor's binoculars. “Ash's machine attracts the Enemy?”

“Yeah, at least that's what happened to the Winchesters. You ask me those boys are just magnets for the weird. But that's just my opinion. There's a theory the Enemy is attracted to gas engines, like I told you. There's also those that say rhythmic noises are enough.

“Like a motor?”

“Yeah.”

“Or … somebody walking?”

Victor nodded. “Like Dean said, you're a sharp kid.”

“Dean said that?”

Victor grinned.

“So what is that down there?” asked Castiel, pointing to one of the few features of the featureless landscape.

Victor focused the binoculars. “Oh, that was where somebody tried to dig a well. Folks do crazy things for water around here. Hundreds of meters deep, but it looks like they gave up.”

“Do the Enemy need water?”

“That's a damned good question.”

Castiel waited a beat. “And?”

“No fucking idea. Damn, what is taking Ash so long?” Victor jumped up on a pile of rocks and shouted down. “Ash, dammit! Place the thing and get the fuck out of there.”

Ash turned around and waved his middle finger at Victor, and then just kept on walking.

“Asshole,” grumbled Victor.

“You don't have, uh, what seems, um, military....”

“You mean we don't respect our superior officers?” laughed Victor. “Naw, kid. Anybody out doing this has an appropriate level of regard for our officers. I'm technically Bobby's second in command, but I don't mind telling the old bastard to go fuck himself, and he'd do the same for me. You want respect, get a dog.”

Castiel heard a low sound and looked back down to the plain. Ash had finally located a good spot, and now sat fiddling with his engine. It sputtered and died once, and then again.

“He needs to quit fucking with that thing and get back up here. I'm gonna yell at him in a minute.”

“What's that over there?”

“Where do you mean?” Victor trained the binoculars in the general direction Castiel was pointing. “Might be dust... Oh fuck!”

Down below, Ash cried out in victory as his motor hummed to life.

Meanwhile, off in the distance, the desert buckled and threw up a cloud of dust. The pattern of disruption was slow and steady. And it was headed right towards where Ash now stood.

“Ash! Get out of there NOW!” Victor screamed, waving his hands towards the trail of what was undoubtedly an Enemy creature tunneling towards him.

Down below, Ash turned and did a double take. And then he began running away. But in his panic, he did not run back towards the hill and safety, but rather at a course directly parallel to it.

“Shit,” whispered Victor. “No, asshole! Up here!” he thundered. He looked to Castiel, and then the car. “I gotta get down there. Cas, stay here, I'll take the car.”

“No, I have an idea,” said Castiel. Before Victor could object, he grabbed a coil of rope, tossed it over his shoulder and started running down the hill. But he didn't run towards Ash: instead, he ran towards the humming motor. The creature had swerved to intersect Ash, attracted, Cas reckoned, by the rhythm of his running feet. He heard the car roar to life and speed away as he ran.

He skidded to the bottom and made for the machine, making sure to pound his feet as loudly as possible. He grabbed the running motor and, without stopping to turn it off, started running towards the empty well, praying that it hadn't been capped off with something like concrete. The motor was heavy and slowed him down. He chanced a look back and gulped. Whatever it was had changed course and was now heading along after him. Well, he told himself, that's what you wanted, wasn't it?

He heard in the distance the roar of the Challenger: Victor had made it down. Hopefully he would swing around and rescue Ash. Though his lungs ached, he sprinted the last few meters for the empty well and found to his relief just a rotting wood plank capping it off. He tore off the plank, and tied one end of the rope and lowered the motor down the well as fast as he could, hand over hand. The dust storm kicked up by the tunneling creature was getting drawing nearer: within a few hundred meters now. It had looked like a frail smoke trail up from the overlook, but now he could see it was at least the width of several cars. Finally the motor must have hit bottom, because the weight was off his hands.

Every instinct told him to run, but instead he forced himself to do a strange dance away from the well, stepping and then sliding and then skipping – anything to break up the rhythm. He wanted the thing to get the motor, not him. Closing in, a few yards, he finally let himself run and then threw himself into a leap, falling face down on the ground.

The well creaked, and then there was a groan, and then, suddenly the whole well structure sunk beneath the desert floor as the bottom had dropped out of the earth. Castiel rolled onto his back and gawped. There was now a small crater where the well had been. 

He carefully stood up and brushed himself off. The ground trembled. And then it shook.

And then the bottom dropped out. Castiel reached around, desperate for some purchase. He grabbed a rock and held on for all he was worth.

At last, the shaking stopped. He blinked. There was now a very large crater centered around the place where the well used to stand. He was clinging to the side, about twenty feet down. He shifted somewhat, and a rock near his feet went sliding down and down and down and down, to wherever the bottom might be.

He heard a familiar rumble up ahead and, trying desperately not to disturb the rock he was clinging to, looked up to the rim of the crater.

“You took my only rope, asshole!” Victor called down from the car.

“I got a tow cable,” Ash shouted. “Let's lower it.”

 

“You go out once – once! - and you almost get killed?”

Castiel, who was currently sitting on top of Dean's desk, winced, though not from Dean's comment. Sam, who was now perched in his brother's chair, was contentedly bandaging a large cut on Castiel's arm, and he had prefaced it with a big splash of alcohol.

“Want some?” Sam held up the bottle and smiled.

Castiel grabbed the bottle and downed a good gulp of whiskey. He wiped his mouth. “I didn't get to see one. But I did get to witness a tow cable in use.” He felt Dean’s hand on his face.

“Cas. Dammit. Try not to die!”

“You look concerned, Dean.”

“He's been freaking ever since he heard,” Sam chuckled. Castiel wasn't quite certain why Dean’s brother seemed to be enjoying this so much.

“I'm gonna kill Victor,” said Dean.

“It wasn't Victor's doing,” Castiel told him. “I myself determined to save Ash.”

“Ash is an idiot! He can save himself.”

“If he's an idiot, wouldn't he require help?”

“Don't be logical!”

Castiel looked to Sam for confirmation, but Sam only grinned. “I don't think what you need for this situation is my swords, Dean. I think Sam is right.”

Sam puffed up. “Of course I'm right.”

“I think these creatures require more study.”

Dean had started pacing, furious. “Well, the thing is, see, I'm not a fucking scientist. I'm a soldier! I hunt bugs and I kill them. That's what I do.”

“You gonna tell him the good news?” Sam asked, as he finished taping the bandage.

“What good news?” Dean grumbled. Sam snorted and shook his head, making the face Castiel was beginning to recognize as “My brother is the dumbest human being on the planet.” “Oh, yeah!” Dean finally said. “We have a visitor.”

“Hello, friend!” came a call from the doorway.

Castiel found himself wrapped in a back-breaking hug. “Benny!” he coughed, when once again he was able to breathe. 

“Don't break my bladesmith,” Dean chided, reaching out his hand. Benny shook it while madly patting Dean on the back.

“Bladesmith? I'm here to take him on as second mate!”

“I'm sorry, but I won't go for less than first mate,” Castiel told him. 

Benny rocked with laughter. “I can't never tell if you're being funny, friend.”

“Tell us the news,” said Dean. 

“Well, I got you a little something. Seems there were some folks taking a whole lot of Damascus steel to Metatron, and, well, that ain't right, he been naughty this year. I was thinkin’ maybe Santa Claus needs to divert this to some nice kids.”

“Damascus steel,” said Castiel, savoring the words.

Benny eyed Castiel. “You didn't forget your promise now, did you?”

Castiel stood tall. “You will have your sword.”

“After _my_ sword,” Dean interjected.

“No, Benny gets precedence.”

“What the hell? Who just put whiskey on your cuts?”

“Sam did,” Castiel reasonably pointed out. 

“Whiskey?” asked Benny. Sam grabbed the bottle and handed it over. Benny looked at the label. “Kid, didn't nobody tell you not to drink spirits older than yourself?” he said approvingly. 

“There's no liquor on earth older than you, Benny,” said Dean.

“That might just be true.”

“How old are you, Benny?” Castiel asked.

“Well,” said the vampire, sitting down next to Castiel. “It was up to eight hundred before I stopped counting.”

“Wow.” 

“And for a vamp, I'm just a pup!”

“And,” Cas leaned forward. “What about my brothers?”

“So, there's good news and bad news there, kid. They were taken alive, that's clear. But they ain't in Lawrence no more.”

Castiel was silent. “Where were they taken? Did you find out, Benny?” Dean asked.

“I heard tell it was some place to the east.”

“Alexandria?” asked Castiel. 

“What?”

Castiel reached into his pants pocket and withdrew the crumpled piece of paper he now always kept there. Dean grabbed it and straightened it out. “It was in my bag. I think maybe my brother put it there before he left.”

“I don't think that's where they'd take 'em, Cas,” said Dean.

“Are you sure, Dean?” asked Cas, who looked disappointed.

“Guys, are you thinking about the big picture here?” asked Sam. “If Metatron wants Alexandria...?”

“That's getting ambitious,” Dean finished. 

“Told you boys he's one greedy little motherfucker,” said Benny.

Dean made a low sound in his throat – it sounded a lot like a growl – and turned to his brother. “Well, for now, he's on the other side of an ocean. We gotta think of the Enemy.”

“And Lucifer,” Sam added.

“It means armaments. Cas,” Dean said, turning around again. “I know it's a lot to ask.”

“I have Damascus steel. Show me to your forge. I'll make blades.”

“Oh, mama!” said Benny, rubbing his hands together. “I can see it already.” He held one hand behind his back and pretended to fence.

“You're okay then?” Dean asked Castiel. “I know it’s not great news about your brothers, but we’ll keep looking, right?” Benny nodded.

Castiel stood. “I would prefer to be occupied. I am eager to return to my trade. Where is your forge?”

Dean stood as well and, with a quick nod to Benny and Sam, escorted Castiel out of his office.

Benny invited himself to sit down, a quizzical expression on his face.

“We'll have the chef drain something for you and your crew,” said Sam. 

“Pig is fine, though cow's better if you have it,” Benny said, though he sounded distracted.

“Long as you don't start-”

“-Snacking on the kitchen staff. Yeah, you make that joke every time, little brother.”

Sam shrugged. He was not, frankly, especially comfortable with the notion of having a single vampire as a guest, when in fact they now had a dozen of them lurking around. He rose to his feet. “I'll contact the kitchen staff.”

“So,” said Benny, picking at his fangs with a toothpick. “Your brother and the bladesmith kid....”

Sam slumped back into his chair. “What about it?”

“Nothing. Maybe. I've known Dean a long time now....”

“Not eight hundred years.”

“No. Not that long.”

“We had a little mishap today. A couple of the guys took Cas out to catch an Enemy, and the Enemy nearly caught them instead.”

“You boys just can't stop pokin' at those things, can you?”

“Well, they are abominations.”

“So am I.”

Sam shrugged. “Anyway, I think Dean feels responsible.”

Benny tilted his head. “And that's what you think,” he stated.

“What do you mean?” Sam shot back, just a little too quickly.

“Mmmm.”

“Don't give me that 'Mmmm” crap! Spill!”

“You don't think he's a little … stuck on the kid?”

Sam sagged, resting his head down on Dean's desk. He straightened and sat back in Dean's chair. “Maybe a little.” He heaved a sigh. “Maybe a lot.”

“Maybe a lot.”

Sam stood up. “Maybe. We just got a lot going on now. So, how do you want your blood: straight up, or with soda?”

 

“Hey, we heard you were down here,” Victor began as he and Ash approached Castiel in the main dining hall. He and his two companions were currently the only other occupants of the cavernous room.

“Yeah, it ain't mealtime,” said Ash.

“Hello Victor, Ash. These are my friends, Kevin and Garth. They work in the kitchen, so I was able to get a late meal.” He looked from side to side and noticed both boys had scrambled to their feet. “Are you finished already?” he asked.

“Sit down,” Victor told them. “You don't mind if we hang out?” he asked, noting with irritation that Ash had already taken a seat and had started poking at the tray of food.

“Not at all. There's plenty here.”

“If you don't mind leftovers?” Garth ventured.

“Aw, hell no,” said Victor, who sat down. “We had one mother of a day.” He grabbed the pitcher of wine and helped himself. “I'm not gonna be able to sleep for a while I think.”

“What happened?” asked Kevin, looking back and for the between Castiel and Victor and Ash.

“Didn't Cas tell you?” Ash chomped. “Pretty goddamned exciting.”

Now Kevin and Garth both scowled at Castiel, who offered, “I went on patrol.”

“You didn’t tell us that!” said Garth.

“And...?” Kevin urged.

“We saw the Enemy!” Ash told them. “And he nearly had Cas for a noontime snack!” 

“What!”

“Aw, let me tell it!” said Ash, who proceeded to launch into a dramatic description, complete with sound effects, of an event somewhat resembled what had just happened to them on patrol that afternoon.

“Dude, why didn't you tell us?” Kevin asked when it had been concluded.

“I honestly didn't realize it was that exciting,” said Castiel.

They talked and ate and drank some more, until at last Dean came into the room. He looked around, surprised. He motioned for Castiel to come over.

“Is everything all right?” Cas asked him.

“Sure,” said Dean. “Just came down to tell you we got the forge ready. So, any time.”

“I'll start first thing tomorrow.”

“You know....” Dean kept his voice low.

“What?” Castiel cocked his head, listening.

“We don't usually mix here. I mean, kitchen personnel and patrols like that.”

“Why not?”

Dean shrugged. “Now that you mention it, I have no idea.” Cas inclined his head, and Dean followed him back to the table, where Ash proceeded to toss a dinner roll at his head. Dean snatched it out of the air and took a bite. To Garth and Kevin’s apparent surprise, Dean sat down and poured himself a glass of wine, and for a time they chatted and ate.

 

Lucifer looked around him at the party assembled outside. “Alastair, pay attention,” he scolded.

Virgil gave Alastair, who was leaning against the wall, drowsing, a kick in the shin. He roused, muttering something. 

“Do you have the transcript from Metatron, Uriel?”

Uriel straightened out some papers. “I believe so. As you know, I am not a secretary,” he said, shooting an irritated glance at Abaddon.

“Don't look at me,” said Abaddon, who was suddenly giving her manicure a great deal of attention.

Uriel grunted. “Here it is: a minor spell of concealment. I have heard that the key is to be attentive when you recite the words.”

“I'm attentive,” said Lucifer, snatching away the papers. He ran his eyes over them, and then scanned the area. “Now I need a target.”

“Might I respectfully suggest something small?” said Uriel. “You could, for example, disarm one of our men down here?” He gestured at Virgil and a groggy Alastair. Lucifer smirked.

“That wouldn’t be any fun, they’re aware of me. How about the guards up above?” said Lucifer, pointing to two shadowy figures visible up behind the battlements on the roof.

“As you wish, My Leige,” sighed Uriel. Abaddon rolled her eyes, and Alastair began to drift back to sleep.

Lucifer held up the papers with one hand. He looked down, moving his lips, and then looked back up, carefully pronouncing the unfamiliar words. Virgil glanced over at Lucifer, who was now more caught up in the spell. Abaddon shuddered, feeling cold chills creep up her spine. Lucifer finished the first page and let it flutter to the ground.

Uriel took a step back, not quite sure why. Lucifer had his eyes closed now, his arm stretched out, seeming possessed. It was like watching Lilith at the first scrying with Metatron. Only Lucifer seemed more in control of it. “Lucifer,” whispered Uriel. 

Another page dropped. It spun, and then alit on the ground. Lucifer kept reciting the spell. 

There was a rumble.

Everyone looked around in confusion.

Lucifer was no longer there.

Alastair roused again, convinced that Virgil had kicked him again, but Virgil had moved away. 

And then there was a faint scraping coming from the wall. It would have passed for something rustling in the wind, if you didn’t know otherwise. It was a quiet sound, like somebody climbing the rough stone. “Lucifer?” whispered Uriel. But there was no answer. And then the sounds faded, and it was quiet for a long moment.

All were staring upwards at the oblivious sentries up above. One of them, hearing the commotion, approached the edge and then, seeing the party gathered below, started to wave.

He stumbled back, as if someone had struck him. He struggled, punching wildly, but then appeared to receive another impact and fell, disappearing behind the battlement. 

The second guard drew his sword. You could see him looking around wildly. He too looked as if he had been struck, but he managed to keep his balance, and rounded, raising his sword. And then he did an odd dance, as if he were struggling with an unseen opponent. His sword hand shot up, and then came down, the sword knocked from his hand. He wrestled with his invisible foe, and managed to slam the other man down on the parapet. But then, as a strangled cry escaped from his lips, he was flipped over the low wall and came tumbling down off the roof to land with a dull thud in the midst of Lucifer’s gathered minions.

Uriel approached the broken body of the sentry. He knelt down and, though it was obvious the guy didn’t survive, dutifully placed two fingers on his neck to check for a pulse. He shook his head and then used a thumb and forefinger to pull down the eyelids, closing the unlucky bastard’s eyes. 

Uriel stood and, putting up a hand to shield his eyes, squinted up at the roof, where Lucifer now stood, revealed, panting for breath.

“Hey, chief,” Alastair shouted up. “That was badass!”


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel liked it hot. It felt familiar.

They had a small staff assigned to work in the forge, but his one request had been to send them all away to let him work. Perhaps later he would put them good use, but for now he longed to return to the familiar: all alone, working the same trade as his father, and his father before him.

He stripped out of his shirt and used it to wipe his forehead. And then he tossed it away without a thought. He had spent his time carefully folding and re-folding the metal into dozens of tiny layers. It was getting to the critical step, and that was all he could think of right now. 

The knock came and he turned, irritated by the interruption. Dean Winchester was at the door, a questioning look on his face. Castiel's expression softened, and he waved Dean to enter. 

Dean focused intently on him, barely bothering to look around. “I came to see how you were doing.” Dean often seemed ill at ease around him these days, and Castiel had no idea why. 

“I'm going to apply the magic now,” Castiel explained. “I'm going to need you to stay very still, and when I tell you, you'll need to shut your eyes. If all goes well, it can be … intense.”

Dean nodded his understanding. Castiel showed him the blade in the forge, and where he would later plunge it into oil. It was still glowing. 

“All right, you stay over here,” Cas told him. He put his hands on Dean's shoulders and led him a few steps away from the forge. He felt Dean suck in a breath. “Are you … all right?” Dean's face was just inches from his now. There was a thin film of perspiration over his body now, from the heat of the forge. 

“I'm all right. I'm fine.” Dean held his arms stiffly down at his side, hands balled into fists. 

Cas looked at him for a moment, but the blade was calling to him. He grabbed his tongs and then pulled the blade from the forge and placed it carefully on his anvil. Yes, it was just perfect. He took a step back and reached out an arm, palm facing the cooling blade. He shut his eyes tight and concentrated, picturing Benny in his mind, as the blade was meant for him. He intoned the words, being careful to enunciate each syllable, praying for strength and protection.

There was a faint humming sound. “Close your eyes!” he called over to Dean. Suddenly it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room, and then even with his eyes squeezed shut he saw the room suffused with a pure white light. And then the light was gone and there was a faint ringing sound.

Cas opened his eyes and stared at the blade, was still faintly sparking. He grasped the tongs and picked it up, staring in wonder. 

Dean was at his side. “Is that what.... Is that what always happens?”

Cas came back to himself and dunked the blade in oil. “It's.... That was....” He wasn't certain why he was so tongue-tied. He finished quenching the blade, listening to the sizzle. He drew it out of the oil bath and laid it on his anvil. 

He shook his head, trying to chase away the fog. “Here,” he said. “Your hands are bigger than mine.” Shuffling among various odds and ends on his work bench, he picked up a metal object and handed it over to Dean. 

“Oh, the hilt!” said Dean, smiling. Cas reached over and repositioned it in Dean's hand. His fingers lingered there.

“It's fucking gorgeous,” Dean was telling him. “You'll make me something like this, right?”

“No,” said Cas. Dean looked surprised. “No, when I make you a sword, it will be for you. For you alone.” 

Dean smiled, and Cas loosened his grip, his own hands fluttering nervously like caged birds. Dean leaned over slightly, running his fingers gently along the side of Cas's face. He appeared to want to say something, but instead turned and pretended to fight with his imaginary sword. “I'm sure it'll be amazing.”

Castiel grabbed his shirt off the floor and buttoned it up. He became aware of Dean watching him again, and started to feel self-conscious. 

“Hey Cas. I do have a question.”

“Yes?”

Dean set down the hilt and leaned against the workbench. “You know how you guys apply magic to blades? Is it possible to do that kinda thing with bullets?”

Cas shook his head. “This isn't the first time I've been asked that. The common wisdom is no. There is simply not enough craft in making bullets.”

“Well, just thought I'd ask. Um, so I take it you've tried?”

Castiel smiled. “Yes, like a lot of people before me, I have tried.” He sadly shook his head. “If you would like, I could look into it again. Unfortunately, I no longer have my books.”

Dean suddenly got a faraway look. “We may be able to help you there.” He inclined his head. “Can you take off for a little while?”

Castiel nodded, and Dean led him out of the forge and along the corridor. Castiel by this time was used to zigzagging through the labyrinthine fort, but he reckoned he had never been to this part before. From his sense of direction, he thought that they were heading deeper into the hillside. 

Dean at last came to a broad wooden door, reinforced with heavy steel bands. Cas couldn't imagine what might lie inside. He guessed it was a cache of weaponry. “Stand back a little,” Dean told him. “I'm not as good at this magic stuff as you.” Cas took a step back and Dean held out his hands, frowning in concentration. Runes carved around the door briefly glowed and dissipated, and with a click, the lock opened. Dean gripped the door handle and pushed inside.

Cas blinked in the darkness. He could tell it was a pretty cramped room, but little else. Dean hit a light switch. Rows of overhead lights came on, one after the other.

It was fantastic. The room was completely lined by shelves, each one of them crammed solid with books. Though the collection was nowhere as extensive as Metatron's cache, it was still impressive. Books were not as common since the Flood, and were regarded by many people with some suspicion. 

Cas turned back to Dean, who was now grinning from ear to ear. “Like it? See if we have what you need in here. If not … well, we can make other arrangements.”

“Other arrangements?” Cas asked. 

But Dean just winked. “Just take what you want. I think you probably heard the unlocking spell? The locking spell is the same. Anyway, remember it in case you wanna come back.” Cas nodded eagerly. “Just don't be surprised if you run into Sammy. It's his favorite place. Outside of sleeping!” Then he nodded, and left.

Cas turned and ran his hand down the spine of a random book. He guessed he needed to find the section on armaments. Just a few moments ago, all he'd wanted to do was get the sword finished and then maybe get a meal from his friends in the kitchen. But now? 

 

When Benny's crew made their way back to the ocean and the Lovely Andrea, they carried not only a new blade for Captain Lafitte and a selection of livestock reluctantly granted over from Chef Crowley's stables, but also a variety of cutlery, ranging from hatchets to long knives to stilettos to daggers. Castiel had managed to locate some sort of amplification spell that meant he could charge up a variety of items, made by various hands, all simultaneously. Benny had made off with a lot of his first test batch, actually came out quite nice, although Castiel promised to improve things. 

Castiel sent Benny back with an order for more Damascus steel. He had found another book that talked of an ancient technique called pattern welding that he was eager to try.

Dean, for his part, was impressed at the way the forge had gone from a quiet, nearly abandoned space to a clattering, banging free-for-all. He also noticed that it was being staffed by a notable number of former kitchen personnel, including Garth, who Crowley repeatedly cited for gross incompetence. 

“I have something for you,” Cas shouted in Dean's ear. Dean wasn't exactly certain why he'd happened by the forge today. God knows there were a lot of other things on his mind right now. There were a currently many wild rumors about Lucifer's doings; he was getting more and more reports of patrols happening upon the Enemy in their rounds, and now Benny had made him worry that Metatron and the North were more of an imminent threat.

As usual, he tried not to let his worry show, but his smile was quite genuine as Cas put an arm around his shoulder and let him off to a small, quiet workroom adjoining the main forge. Cas did that thing where he carelessly wiped down the sweat on his body with his shirt and Dean had to step back and take a breath. He distracted himself by looking around the room while Cas prowled through the drawers of an old workbench. There was a pegboard on one side with some of what Dean guessed were his personal tools hung up. And there was a pillow and some bedding neatly folded in one corner.

“Cas, are you sleeping here now?”

Cas shrugged and stared at the floor. “It's quiet.”

“Hey, no problem. I should have thought about moving you out of that dorm. We could at least pull a cot in here or something. Sorry. I've just got a lot going on these days.” He sat down in the old, battered chair next to the desk, and it squeaked in protest. He smiled. It had metal wheels on the bottom, so he could slide it back and forth. 

Cas sat up on the desk, unwrapping something concealed in a cloth. Dean slid over nearer. “I could give you the chair instead of this present,” Cas told Dean. “You seem enamored.”

“You're being funny, right?” laughed Dean, who leaned over to peer at what Cas was holding. It was a dagger, but it was utterly beautiful. Dean grasped the handle and held the blade to the light. Though the blade was smooth, it looked like it had been etched all over with fine patterns, changed as the light hit it.

“This is … fucking gorgeous.”

Cas smiled, and when Dean offered it back, he waved him off. “It's for you, Dean. It was an experiment. I thought perhaps because I couldn't make you the first sword from this forge, you would accept this as … a down payment?”

“Man, I probably shouldn't accept, but what the hell? Thanks. And you know, it's good seeing you smiling like that.”

Cas's face flushed and he dropped his eyes. Dean hopped out of the chair and perched up on the desk beside him. “Hey! I bet Lucifer would lose his lunch if I came after him with this blade in my teeth.” He demonstrated by putting it in his mouth and pulling a face.

“I wouldn't recommend that, Dean!” Cas warned him, looking alarmed. 

“Just being an idiot,” Dean told him, wiping the blade on a shirt tail. 

“Don't be … an idiot,” Cas told him. 

“You wouldn’t like that?” asked Dean, his face now very close to Cas’s.

Cas swallowed.

There was a pounding on the door. Dean glanced at Cas and then called, “Come in.” He sighed when both Sam and Bobby appeared in the doorway. “This has gotta be trouble.”

“Dean,” Sam told him. “A couple of our patrols – they haven't come back.”

Dean was on his feet and stalking out of the room. Sam and Bobby followed. He looked at the dagger and stuffed it in his belt. “What do we know?”

“They were generally headed out west,” Bobby told him.

“Generally? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, generally out west, and if I fucking knew anything else, I'd fucking tell you.”

Dean grimaced. “Have we sent out search parties yet?”

“They only just turned up late. No time.”

“And we're short staffed. As usual,” Sam chimed in. 

“Fuck that, I'll go out myself if I need to,” Dean grumbled.

“Yeah, that's a great idea, kid. Abandon your post when we need you here.”

Dean turned on Bobby. “I am not abandoning my post.” Sam put a hand on his shoulder, but Dean shook him off. “Those are my men! They're my responsibility.”

Dean and Bobby looked like they were going to square off right there in the corridor, but they were suddenly interrupted by Kevin, who came running up, out of breath. “Dean! The patrol came in. You need to hurry. They....” He paused gasping for breath.

“They're what? patrol? Who?”

“Victor and Ash! But Ash is all cut up.”

“I'll get Doc Cottle,” said Sam, who immediately ran off to fetch the surgeon.

“Show me. Now,” said Dean, and he and Bobby hurried along after Kevin, who seemed to have gained his second wind from pure fright. 

They were both covered in blood, Victor and Ash, the latter spilled out on the floor, Victor kneeling over him, one hand outstretched as if he didn't know what to do with it.

“Doc's on his way,” Dean called. He was down next to Victor, one hand on his shoulder. “What happened?” he asked softly.

“Lucifer's guys. They must have been. I guess they followed us. I have no fucking idea how. We absolutely weren't being tailed, Dean. At least, I didn't think so. They jumped us. They came out of nowhere: I didn’t even see them until they were wailing on us. Virgil. One of them was Virgil! I looked straight into his eyes. I saw him!” Victor shook his head, as if trying to throw off the memory. “I threw Ash in the back of the car. Didn't know what else to do.”

“Ash?” asked Bobby, who had somewhat painfully lowered himself down to his knees. He leaned his head down, cocking his ear. “Son, can you hear me?”

“Fuck … off,” Ash whispered.

“Holy fuck, he's still alive,” said Victor. “Ash! You motherfucker!”

“Fuck … you … too,” Ash muttered.

Doc Cottle arrived in a haze of tobacco smoke. “What did you do to yourself now?” he groused. “Everybody! Back off and give him some breathing room.”

“Fuck you … too … Doc,” Ash wheezed.

“Hold still while I get your pulse,” the doctor told him. “Where's the goddam stretcher? Hey, you!” he called at Kevin.

“Me what?” But Cottle had already grabbed his hand and stuck it on Ash's leg.

“Hold your hand there,” he instructed him. “No, harder! Apply pressure.”

“I faint at the sight of blood!” Kevin protested.

“So when you fall over, fall towards the body and just keep up pressure!” Kevin cringed and obeyed. “Where's the stretcher?”

“Here's the stretcher!” said Sam, who had just arrived with two attendants. 

“Get him up! We gotta get him patched together,” the doctor yelled at them. “You! Keep up the pressure or I'll skin you alive.”

Kevin cringed and followed the attendants as the rushed Ash off. “And you,” said the doctor to Victor, only pausing to take an agitated puff of his cigarette. “Let me see. Now.”

“It's fine. I'm fine,” said Victor. The doctor grunted and grabbed his arm. Victor winced as Cottle rubbed his thumb along a large gash. “You're coming with me too. Sam, got your sewing kit?”

“And the whiskey,” grinned Sam, grabbing Victor by the shoulder and steering him away.

“You're not a doctor, you're a quack!” Victor groused as Sam let him off.

Dean grabbed Doc Cottle by the arm. “Ash. Is he gonna make it?”

“Every second you keep me here weepin' is another second he's lying there bleedin’,” Cottle grumbled. He flicked ashes and jammed the cigarette back in his mouth. “I'll do my best,” he muttered, and then he too was off.

“Lucifer! God damn his hide!” shouted Bobby. He kicked at a rock, and then winced. 

Dean stared intently at the floor. “You think they're coming?”

“It's just like Sam and I been telling you. Yeah. Don't fucking matter how many times you invite that asshole to a fancy dinner. He wants this place. Always has. And now that we got your bladesmith....”

Dean hugged his arms to his chest. “You think he wants Cas?”

“Don't matter that we already kidnapped him fair and square. Someone as can make magical weaponry? Hell yeah. When word gets out, if it ain't already, that kid's got a price on his head. Where are you goin'?” he added, as Dean began to stalk away.

Dean paused. “I can't do a fucking thing about Ash. I'm gonna do what I can.”

 

“Cas!”

“They said … you were looking for me?” the bladesmith asked as he hovered in the doorway of Dean's office. Dean breathed a sigh of relief and waved him in. Much as he'd become accustomed now to seeing Castiel around the fort, he still felt he barely understood him. In his brief jaunt to the South he had already gone up against pirates and the Enemy, and Dean had just witnessed him churning up enough magical power forging Benny's blade to light the entire fortification for a week. And yet a single word of praise sent him blushing and stammering and staring at the floor. 

“You weren’t in the forge,” said Dean. “I mean … you know that. Obviously.”

Cas tentatively shut the door behind him. “I just went to see Ash. But the doctor in charge told me to get lost. He was … a little abrupt.”

Dean smiled and leaned back in his chair. “He's pretty protective of his patients.”

Cas came over to stand in front of his desk. “I had an idea. I didn't have time to tell you … before. I've been reading.”

“I figured as much. You're a book person. Like Sammy.”

“It's about the bullets.”

Dean paused. “You figured out an enchantment?”

“No. I still think that's impossible. Or it would be so weak as to not be worth the effort. But, Dean. Building the gun? I've been studying the craft of making armaments. I think it would be possible to incorporate a quite powerful spell into a rifle, or even possibly a pistol.”

“Holy shit, Cas! That's fucking brilliant.”

Cas smiled, and Dean's whole world suddenly brightened. And then he was on his feet, grabbing one of the dull, decorative swords that was mounted on the wall behind him. “So, how well you know how to use one of these?”

Cas shrugged. “Well enough. I can use a blade, but as I told you, I'm not a soldier.” He took the sword from Dean, though he looked confused.

Dean grabbed the other sword of the pair and came out from behind the desk. “You know how to defend yourself? If one of Lucifer's guys comes after you?”

“I suppose I can hold my own. I don't know.”

“Well, you need to know. I got a pair of my men down in the infirmary, and I just sent some guys after another pair that went missing. We're being hunted now, and you need to defend yourself.”

Cas straightened up. “I have magic.”

“No magic! Cas. You know my mom? I'm like my dad, that's what everyone says. But my mom? She was like you. Like Sammy, too, in her way. She read books and she knew the enchantments. And you know what somebody did? There was a border war, and my dad was out, and somebody put a sword through her.”

Cas’s eyes widened. “Oh. God. I'm sorry, Dean.”

“Show me what you know, Cas. Now.”

Castiel stood still, confused. “What do you want me to do?”

And then Dean lunged at him. Cas got his own sword up in time, and managed a very clumsy parry. “Defend yourself. Come on! Don't worry about me.”

“But-” But Cas didn't finish his protest, as Dean swung at him again. This time he didn't get his own sword up in time, and was rewarded with a nasty smack in the side. “Ow!” He rubbed his side.

“Come on! Hit me!” urged Dean.

“I don't....” Dean lunged again. Cas smacked his blade away, and then swung wildly. Dean expertly batted him away. 

“That's it. Come on. Let me see what you got.”

Cas followed with a few more attempted attacks, but Dean always managed to get the best of him. “Harder! Come on. You can do better than that.”

Cas gritted his teeth and swung. He stepped back, breathing hard. “This is idiotic! I'll never be able to defend myself against an expert swordsman. Not without magic!”

Dean leapt at him, and Cas raised his sword again. But Dean kept coming, raining down blows. “Don't give up, dammit! Don't give up! Never give up!” But then Cas swung and missed, and Dean smacked him on the hand and his weapon dropped with a clank. Dean raised his sword, but Cas grabbed his arm, pulling Dean closer, and then stomped down hard on his instep. Dean yelped in surprise, and Cas countered with an elbow to his gut.

Dean started to fall, but managed to grab Cas and pull him down too, Cas gasping as Dean landed on top of him, dropping the sword. Cas reached his hands out above his head, scrambling for Dean's blade. But Dean stretched out too, trapping Cas's wrists beneath his hands. They were face to face now, breathing hard, Dean staring half-crazed down at him.

Then Dean's mouth was on his, pressing down desperately. Shifting his body, Dean tightened his grip on Cas's wrists, pushing his tongue into Cas's mouth, pressing his weight against Cas, pinning him down. 

And then, just as suddenly, like a summer storm that raged and vanished, Dean was pulling back. He released Cas's wrists and went up on his elbows. They lay there for a long moment, staring at each other, panting. Cas's eyes were wide. “I- I'm sorry,” Dean whispered.

Cas slowly, carefully reached up one trembling hand and gently touched Dean's face, brushing back a stray hair. He shook his head. “Don't. Don't be sorry.”

And then Dean was back, kissing him again, Cas's arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, kissing back. Dean slid down and began to kiss Cas's neck. He grasped the thin material of Cas's shirt and yanked at it, tearing it open, buttons popping, and trailed his tongue down Cas's chest. 

And then Dean rolled off and got to his knees, and Cas let out a small, disappointed moan. Dean grabbed Cas by the shirt collar and yanked him up. “Come on,” he muttered, backing up, pulling Cas along with him. Cas followed along, as if hypnotized. Dean pulled him back to a small door in the side of the office and pushed it open. As Cas continued to lock eyes with him, Dean turned him around, dumping him on the bed. Dean turned and bolted the door. And then Dean was on him, and his hands were everywhere, and Cas was on fire.

 

“So?” asked Lucifer.

Uriel stopped short. For once, Lucifer was sitting up, paying attention, although he was also giving himself a manicure with a dagger. Uriel’s gaze drifted over at Alastair, sitting on a countertop in the corner, crunched up like a gargoyle. The man’s face was in shadows, but Uriel could see the wide grin. This one likes killing, Uriel thought. For some reason, this made him feel nervous. 

Uriel looked questioningly at Lucifer. “Go ahead,” said Lucifer, waving the letter opener.

“My Liege. The other party escaped, though both were badly wounded.”

“Virgil is a pussy,” grumbled Alastair. “You shouldn’t trust that one to squash a bug.”

“Alastair, when I want to hear from you, I’ll ask,” Lucifer said in a soft and careful voice. “As it happens, I asked Virgil to let them go.”

“Why, boss man?” asked Alastair, unfolding and hopping off the counter.

“Because we need someone to report back what has happened,” Uriel explained, looking down his nose at Alastair.

“Metatron’s spells, they’re the real deal,” nodded Lucifer. 

“And there is more where that came from,” Uriel added.

“If you believe the legends,” said Lucifer. “Alexandria might be another bug’s hoard.”

“You don’t believe in Alexandria?” asked Uriel. “Then why-?” He cut himself off.

“Why what?” 

“I’m sorry, My Liege. It was inappropriate.”

“You wish to know, why did I agree to go in with Metatron?” Lucifer nodded. “He clearly plans to use me and then do away with me when I’ve outlived my usefulness.”

“I won’t let him kill you!” Alastair protested. “He raises a hand, he’s dead as a dog.”

Lucifer pointed with the letter opener, “While he thinks he’s using us, we’ll be using him,” he said, pointing one way and then the other. “Besides, I hear the weather up North is fine this time of year.”

Uriel cocked an eyebrow. The boss was getting ambitious. Alastair cackled, and Uriel felt another chill run up his spine.

 

Cas awoke in the biggest bed he had ever seen. He roused, and, to his disappointment, realized he was alone there.

He sat up and yawned. He blinked, looking for his clothes, but they seemed to be scattered everywhere. There was a robe hanging from the back of a chair, so he put it on, intending to nose around for the bathroom. He heard the sound of trickling water and peeked through an open door. Happily, it was the washroom, though it appeared as big as his old dormitory. He gratefully relieved himself, and paused, still fascinated by the flush toilets in the fort. And then he noticed the large pool at the other end of the room. Steam was rising off the water. Sam had explained at one point that the fortification was built over hot springs, and some of the remarkable plumbing system made use of the mineral water. It looked like they had actually piped the water into this room to make a perpetually warm bath. Cas put a hand in the water. It felt wonderful. He looked around the bathroom, and, after peeking back into Dean's bedroom to see that no one was around, shed the robe and dipped into the bath. 

He found a cake of soap in a dish and took some time washing himself. And then, even though the hour was late and he probably should have gotten out, he lingered. It was intoxicating, being here with nothing to do. The pool looked large enough to swim. How he missed swimming.

“Hey, sleepy head!”

He may have dozed off as he didn't hear Dean until he was standing right over him. Cas startled awake, saw Dean, remembered he was naked, and then had the absurd idea that he needed to cover himself up. “Um. Hello, Dean?”

“No, don't get out. That looks like a great idea.” And then Dean was kicking off his boots and shedding his clothes. Cas peered up at him. He looked utterly perfect up there, naked, like a young god. He yawned and stretched.

And then there was a splash and he was crouching in the water next to Cas, pulling on his arm. “Hey, come here. This is the best part.” Cas followed as Dean pulled him out, at first walking along the slick bottom, but he found it quickly fell away. He stumbled on the slippery floor and found himself in Dean's arms as Dean treaded water. “Is this great or what?”

Cas smiled up at Dean, expecting a kiss.

Dean grinned, mouth full of straight white teeth, and then unceremoniously dunked him.

Cas surfaced, peeved and sputtering as Dean treaded water and howled with laughter. Cas, however, was a strong swimmer, and had grown up with two mischievous brothers. He shot over behind Dean and tackled him from the back, dunking him in mid-laughter. Dean surfaced, choking, and then the choking turned to laughter and he splashed Cas. Cas turned and swam for the bench at the shallow side. Dean followed, and pulled Cas around to sit on his lap, and Cas finally got his kiss.

“I was pissed when I came back and you weren't in bed,” Dean told him. “I thought you'd be there, all warmed up and waiting for me.”

“Sorry. I had to pee,” Cas told him. Dean laughed again. “Where were you?”

“Went to visit Ash. He survived the night. Doc Cottle says that's good, that he's probably going to make it. Now, we have some time. We can do whatever you like.” And Dean emphasized the remark with another, more lingering kiss.

“Oh, um, yes.”

Dean's words came in short bursts as he paused to nuzzle Cas's neck, and then Dean's lips traced down to his chest. “Hey, I know things happened a little fast last night. But we can take it slower. Whatever you want.”

“I'm not sure,” Cas admitted. “What I want.”

“Wait,” said Dean, cupping Cas's face. “You'd been with a guy before, right? Or a girl?”

“I hadn't. Actually.” He suddenly felt exposed. “I had a business to run. Two brothers to look after....” But Dean cut him off with another kiss.

When he pulled back, Dean's eyes were wide and eager. “I get you all to myself?”

“If … you want to look at it that way?”

Dean's hands had found the curve of his ass and gave it a teasing squeeze, and Cas let out a gasp. And then Dean's fingers roamed lower, exploring his body. Cas clung to him, arching and moaning while their mouths met in a crushing kiss. Everything was slick and warm and wonderful as they wrestled there in the steaming water.

 

“Samandriel?”

Inias leaned on his broom and peered into the darkness. But, to his intense disappointment, the person entering the shop was not his younger brother.

“You look just like your brother when you do that.”

“Do what, Naomi?” huffed Inias as he returned to sweeping the smithy floor.

“Roll your eyes,” said Naomi, a slight smile crossing her features. “And you realize,” she continued, her voice lower, confidential, “you're not supposed to use his proper name?”

Inias gripped the broom, pushing too hard, scattering dust everywhere. “Yes. The De Angelus family, maker of blades, is no more.”

“Now, now. Don't be so unhappy. Despite your brother's troubles, you were allowed to continue your apprenticeship, weren't you?”

“This isn't an apprenticeship!” growled Inias. “Serving as a custodian to my own damned business. And they won't let me use magic! What good is a bladesmith who can’t say the words?”

Naomi put a finger to her lips and looked around. “Not many are allowed magic anymore. You know this.”

“What's a tradesman without his magic?”

“It's Metatron's commandment.”

“Fuck him.” He said it softly, but Naomi still looked like she would shit a brick. 

She sighed. “I have something for you.” Naomi held up a brown paper-wrapped package. Frowning, Inias leaned his broom against the counter and took it from her. He unwrapped it, the paper crinkling. It was a book. He looked questioningly at Naomi: books had become almost as much contraband as magic.

“You said you liked reading to your brother. These are some tales. About the South.”

Inias nodded, his throat catching before he could say a word of thanks. Word was, his brother had gone South. Inias sometimes imagined grabbing Sammy, and hopping on one of the ships in the harbor to go look for him. Maybe when his brother was a little older. Even if they never set eyes on Castiel again, life beyond the Narrow Sea couldn't possibly be worse than his present existence.

Naomi was staring at him. “Take care, Inias. And … watch yourself.” And with that, she departed.

 

Cas somehow found his way back to the library from Dean's room. He had ventured back to his own room beside the forge only to find his things (what little there was) had all been transported as if by magic to the elder Winchester brother's quarters. He hadn't had the time to discuss this with Dean, so had just plowed ahead on the spell he was working on. 

He had a rather large stack of books in his arms, and realized when he came to the door that he didn't really have an arm free to cast the unlocking spell.

“That's okay, I got it,” said Sam, who had just come up behind him. Sam casually flicked a hand at the door and it popped open. Sam grabbed the handle and politely held the door open when Cas, who was a bit flustered, entered and set down his stack of books.

“You didn't even say the words,” he told Sam, once the door was closed again.

“Oh, yeah. If you think them well enough, then you're good.”

Cas continued staring, but then awkwardly grabbed up a book and began to shelve it. There wasn't quite enough room for everything, so he had to resort to sticking a couple books in horizontally, irked him. “I haven't seen such a thing before.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sam stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced at the floor, shaggy hair falling in his face as he smiled shyly. “I think I inherited it. I guess our mom was a pretty good magic user.” He looked up, sparkling green eyes staring through dark bangs. “So, anyway, what are you here for? I might be able to help, if you're looking for something.”

Cas stood in silence for a moment. Both of the Winchester brothers possessed their own sort of beauty. _So what in God's name does Dean see in me?_ “In point of fact, I am still pursuing Dean's request: to enchant a firearm.”

“Oh, the magic bullet spell.” Sam chuckled. “We've had some luck with engraving runes on the bullets, but they get distorted when you fire them.” He feigned firing off a gun, weaving hands together, two index fingers pointing and shooting.

“Not the bullets, Sam. The firearm.”

It was Sam's turn to stare at Cas. “You're gonna make a magic gun?”

“That is my hope.”

“Damn. That's smart. In fact, that's brilliant.”

“No one has pursued this line of inquiry before?”

You could see the wheels turning. “Well, making a gun.... It's complicated! All those little pieces.”

“Precisely! When you make a whole from parts, you can incorporate magic with various binding spells.”

Sam was beginning to get excited. “Yeah, I see where you're going. Shit! Why didn't I think of that?” He had already headed over to a section of shelving. “Have you looked in here yet?”

“Yes. The Enochian texts. But you don't have all the volumes of the series.”

Sam's grin spoke mysteries. “Ah, but we do!”

“Really? Where are they?” 

But Sam was distracted by a commotion in the hallway outside. “Just a minute,” he said, peeking out the door. He stopped someone in the hallway and there was a whispered conversation. And then he was back in the room, radiating excitement. “Come on!” he told Cas.

Cas put down his books and headed out. Sam paused to re-lock the door with an impatient flick of the wrist, and then he was off running, Cas trying to keep up.

“What has happened?” Cas puffed.

“He's back!” Sam yelled back, and then he leapt for the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, and Cas contented himself for a while with just keeping pace with the long-legged Winchester.

They ended up in the grand corridor near the main entrance. Dean was there, and he was embracing a burly, dark haired man, still clad in a keffiyeh and desert robes. He looked like he had just come in from the wilderness. There were other robed men standing around as well. 

Dean and the newcomer finally broke the embrace. Cas thought he had never seen Dean look so happy.

“Dad!” said Sam, who strode forward. The man smiled broadly and stepped forward to hug Sam, enthusiastically slapping his back.

“Dammit, Sam, are you still growing?” asked John, who took a step back and looked Sam up and down in mock surprise. Sam puffed up proudly. John turned to pump Bobby's hand. Bobby, to Cas, didn’t appear anywhere near as enthusiastic as the Winchester boys.

“Dad,” said Dean. He grabbed Cas by the arm and tugged him forward. “This is our new bladesmith. This is Cas.”

“It's good to meet you, sir,” said Cas, nervously extending a hand.

“We have a new smith?” John asked Dean, ignoring Cas for the moment. “Since when?”

Dean looked smug. “Since now.”

John waved a skeptical hand towards Cas. “Is the little bastard any good? He looks like he’s about fifteen years old.”

“I am nineteen years old, sir,” said Cas testily. Here we go again, he thought.

John turned to address Cas for the first time. “Can we cool it with the ‘sir’ business? Makes me feel like I’m a hundred years old.”

“You are a hundred years old,” barked Bobby, and several guys hooted with laughter.

“Look, I didn’t believe it either, at first, but he’s the best I’ve ever seen, Dad,” said Dean, and Cas stood tall with pride at this. 

John didn’t comment, but instead peered inquisitively at his firstborn, and then gave Cas a searching look. “We’ll see, I guess. Welcome, Cas,” he added, finally holding out his hand to shake. His handshake was firm. And then Cas was evidently dismissed, as John said, “Come on, we have a lot to talk about.” He charged off, Dean and Bobby right behind him, Cas standing awkwardly back.

Sam grabbed Cas’s shoulder. “Hey. I’ll talk to them about getting that volume for you.” And then he too was off. 

“Hey.”

Cas turned to see Kevin standing there with a large, covered platter. His face relaxed into a smile. “Hello, Kevin.”

“We haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been surprisingly busy.”

Kevin shrugged. “Was gonna bring this down to Ash. And maybe visit for a while. Cottle’s a good doctor, but he’s too much of an asshole to be good company.”

“Can I go with you?” Cas asked. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he craved company just now. 

“Hey, sure, come on! Victor sometimes comes down, and we need another hand to play cards. You do play cards, right?”

“Uh. No.”

“That’s even better!” Kevin assured him.

 

Inias began to leaf through the book Naomi had given him, _1,001 Tales of the South_ , and soon became so engrossed he didn't even realize when his brother finally appeared. Samandriel got up on tiptoes to peer in, dropping a pet grasshopper on the page so it could see as well.

“Do you want me to read?”

“Are there pirates?” asked Samandriel. Although the boy was resentful against Castiel, and would no longer suffer to say his traitorous brother's name, he had become fascinated with pirates after they heard their Castiel may have made it down through the Narrow Sea to the South, on a ship manned by privateers.

“There might be. Come on, pull up a chair.”

Samandriel grabbed a canvas sack filled with sawdust and dragged it over. He sat down while Inias hopped up on the counter and, pulling the lamp nearer, began to read. “In the beginning there were the Seven Sisters.” He paused, his finger on the paragraph. “Can you name all the forts, Sammy?”

Samandriel inhaled deeply, so he could recite it all in one breath. “The Ruby Fort, the Emerald Fort, the Onyx Fort, the Sapphire Fort, the Amethyst Fort, the Opal Fort, the Topaz Fort.”

“That’s right!”

“Only the Sapphire Fort was lost.”

Inias squinted at his brother. “Where did you hear that?”

“A mealybug told me.”

“Oh.” Inias shrugged and went back to reading.


	6. Chapter 6

“Psychics. I mean, what the fuck, Sammy?”

Sam sat down opposite his big brother, who was relaxing behind his desk. He looked around curiously. “So. Where's Cas?”

“What do you mean?”

Sam shrugged innocently.

“Cas is at the forge. _Working._ Where do you think?”

Sam pretended to stare at his fingernails.

“What, Sam?”

There were probably some things in life more fun than tweaking Dean. But Sam, as yet, was unaware of them. “You were pretty eager to introduce him to Dad.”

Dean tried to look insulted. “Yeah, well. He's our new bladesmith. Big news.”

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Just … don't be disappointed if he doesn't react the way you want. Dad's dad, right?”

“I guess so,” Dean muttered. “So what the fuck is it with him and the psychics?”

Sam decided to let the change of topic pass. “You ever meet Missouri?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Once. I was a kid. A teenager. Dad took me along. That was the last time, I swear.”

“Well, so you know she's the real deal.”

“She's real obnoxious. I'll give you that. She told me I was a funny looking kid. Funny looking! Fucking psychics.” Dean scowled with the righteous fury of the funny-looking.

“But I think some of the stuff she told Dad has already come true.”

“What part? She speaks in riddles.”

“She told him you'd be forged by fire, and I'd heal in the earth.”

“You'll play in the mud, I'll light fires. Does she think we're still five years old?”

“The forge, Dean. Think about it. Don't you think she may have meant Cas?”

Dean scowled. “Or she could have meant Crowley would scorch my dinner. Who the fuck knows? What I really wanna know is why Lucifer backed off so quickly. I could have sworn an attack was coming.”

“Who knows with him,” said Sam. 

“He's probably got his own psychics telling him bullshit.”

“I assume it's because the Enemy has been out in such force. But who knows? Maybe he's just reluctant to break the peace. We did just have him to dinner!”

Dean shook his head. “Victor says they didn't see them until they attacked. Like they were invisible. You don't think they're using magic, do you?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“But where the hell did they get the new spells?”

Sam held up his hands. “I dunno. Ask Missouri.”

 

“This is stunning work.”

Castiel looked around John’s cluttered office, located just down the corridor from Dean's suite of rooms. He was surprised to see only John, who was standing there holding one of Castiel's swords. The summons had come while he was working at the forge, so he had only time to throw on his shirt and run over. He had expected Dean to be here. Looking down, he suddenly realized that he had missed a button, and his shirt was askew. 

“Yes sir. I mean, yes _John_.”

“Sit down, Cas.” John indicated a small table that had been mostly cleared of odds and ends. There was a jug of wine and some platters from the kitchen there.

“I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted your lunch,” Cas ventured.

“ _Our_ lunch,” said John, pouring some wine into Cas’s glass. “Help yourself.” Cas noticed for the first time there was a place setting before him. At least John Winchester was more polite than Metatron, he reflected. Cas cautiously picked up some orange slices, lifting them onto his plate, where he politely waited for John.

Ignoring the food, John poured himself and Cas some wine and then took a sip. “So Dean tells me you didn’t finish your apprenticeship?”

Cas sniffed at the wine. And then took a nervous gulp of it. “No. Unfortunately, my father … hasn’t been around.”

“How long?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How long ago did your father take off?”

“Oh, uh, around three years ago now?”

“Three years? So, you speak for yourself?”

“Uh. I suppose so.” Cas was frankly a bit baffled by the direction of the conversation, but also felt too shy to inquire directly at this point. He took another drink of the wine, and then took a deep breath. For reasons that were a bit muddled to him, he found John Winchester somewhat frightening.

“It would have been better if you’d officially finished your apprenticeship. But I think any fair judge would say these swords are masterworks.”

Cas looked up in surprise. “Thank you.” John gestured with the wine jug. Cas held out his glass, and John refilled it.

“And your family owns the name to the smithy?”

Cas emitted a sigh. He swirled the wine in his glass. “It’s my family business, sir. I mean, John. But I don’t have any idea about the current status. By all accounts, Metatron seems to have taken the title for his own.” 

“Metatron has no legal right to do that. He’s one scummy bastard.”

“Be that as it may, I have no access to my birthright at the present time. And I don’t know what’s become of my brothers.”

“You have two younger brothers?”

“That’s correct.” Cas felt the familiar hole in the pit of his stomach that came up with someone mentioned Inias and Samandriel. He gulped his wine again. No need to get sentimental around John Winchester.

“Any other living family?”

Cas blinked at the sudden tack in the conversation. He regarded his wine. “Distant relatives,” he grumbled. 

“How distant?”

“Distant enough to not give a shit when my father took off. Uh. Sorry!”

John chuckled and refilled Cas’s wine glass once again.

“I think I’ve had enough,” Cas told him.

“I think you’ve had not nearly enough. Now, what are your intentions towards my firstborn?”

“Intentions?” Cas obediently took another sip of wine.

“Well, you’re the senior partner here, even though you’re younger. You’re a business owner. Dean is in charge here when I’m gone, but it’s not official, and this place really doesn’t technically belong to us.”

“Senior partner?” asked Cas. A thought was beginning to edge into his consciousness.

“Yes, you'd be considered the senior partner in the couple.”

Cas shot up, upsetting his chair, toppled over backwards. He gawped at John. He gestured with his glass, spilling a bit of the wine on the floor. “This is a marriage parley!”

John laughed. “Well, yeah. What the hell did you think it was?” He hefted the sword Cas had made. “About time that one settled down. And this would be a damn auspicious match. Never expected he’d link up with a tradesman. And armaments to boot!”

“But…” was all Cas managed to sputter out before the door opened.

“Dad. What the hell?” demanded Dean.

John remained seated, calmly twirling his wine glass by the stem. “Dean. You know children aren’t supposed to come to these.”

“Children? Dad! Geez! There isn’t supposed to be a this! I mean, not yet.” Dean was red-faced. Cas turned himself around and saw Sam was now lurking in the doorway, apologetic expression on his face.

“Dean,” sighed John. “If I have any hope of grandchildren to carry on the family name, I have to get Sam married off. And I can’t think of that until you’re out of the way.”

“Out of the way?” said Dean. “Jesus, Dad. Cas, come on, let’s get out of here.”

With one last mortified look at John, Cas let Dean walk him out of the office. Dean paused a bare moment to give the door a good slam, and then stalked off, Sam and Cas following him, though Cas felt a little unsteady on his feet. They made their way upstairs, finally ending up on an empty section of the roof.

“Uh. Sorry,” said Sam. “Dad asked where Cas was, and I slipped and told him probably in your room, and then it was, you know, the third degree.”

“Not your fault,” Dean muttered. “God! That guy!” Sam nodded to Cas and then retreated. Cas watched the big man slink down the stairway.

Dean was pacing back and forth. “Look, Cas, I’m sorry. I didn’t want him to do this. I mean, I wanna be with you.” Dean paused, and his face softened somewhat. “I mean, I really wanna be with you. But I didn’t want him … doing this! Like that. You know?”

Castiel’s brain was racing trying to keep up with the events of the last few moments. And the wine wasn’t helping things. “Dean. I can’t make a decision regarding marriage right now. Metatron has taken my business. And I still don’t know what’s happened with my brothers!”

“I know. I know.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Dad is.... It's always a clusterfuck when he's around. Why did I think this time would be different?”

Cas emitted a hiccup, and leaned against a low parapet.

“Are you drunk, Cas?”

“No! I mean yes. I mean, maybe?” Cas hiccuped again.

Dean drew nearer. “You're all unbuttoned,” he laughed, making to re-button Cas's shirt for him. “Did you come over right from the smithy?”

“Your father summoned me! Hic!”

Dean smiled. He finished the last button, and tugged Cas closer, finishing with a kiss. “You have to watch the drinking,” he muttered. “Someone could take advantage.”

“No one will touch me! I'll cut them with my knife.”

“I was talking about me.”

“Oh. You can touch me. You can kiss me again. I find I like kissing.”

“Damn. Where the hell did you come from, Cas?”

“The North. Remember, you kidnapped me?”

Dean embraced Cas instead of kissing him. He pulled back. “Dammit. Marry me.”

“Wasn't that what we were talking about?”

“I suppose. Oh! I almost forgot what with my dad being an asshole. Your book!”

Cas was now thoroughly confused. “What book?”

“Sam said you needed another volume to do the spell on a gun? An Enochian text?”

“Yes. It's not at your library. But Sam said he knew where to get it.”

“Yeah. Normally, we'd send someone else, but since Dad's here, we're in luck. What would you say to a road trip, Cas?”

“A … what?”

“It's a.... Actually, never mind. Let's get you back to the room, all right?”

Castiel stifled another hiccup. “I need to get back to the forge.”

“Uh, no, what you need is maybe to look at your magic books for a while. Very important.”

Cas nodded, and allowed himself to be led off by Dean. He took up one of his volumes when they got back to Dean's room, and, within a few minutes, he was face down in it, snoring away.

Dean pulled the covers up around him and, giving the top of his head a kiss, departed to make ready for the next day.

 

Uriel stormed out of the Onyx Fort to confront the men waiting outside in the courtyard. “What the blazes happened?”

“Wasn’t our fault,” grumbled Virgil. 

“It got away,” said Brady. 

“How did it get away?” Uriel fumed.

Brady spread his hands. “You’d be surprised how quick they are. They got a fuckload of legs!” He wiggled his fingers, miming a retreating crawly-bug. 

“Capturing the creature was necessary for Lucifer’s plans.” Uriel stared sternly and Virgil and Brady. “You will go and obtain another.”

“But boss!” said Brady. “That’s gonna take all day.”

“Then take all day. And all night, for all I care. You have your orders.”

“How is it a good idea, messing with this stuff?” asked Virgil.

“How is it a good idea, disobeying a direct order from Lucifer?” demanded Uriel. Virgil and Brady looked at each other and then reluctantly walked back to their vehicle. Uriel watched as they drove off.

“He’s got a point.”

Uriel started. Abaddon was standing directly behind him. The blasted woman tended to do that. “A point regarding … what?”

“Messing with the crawly-bugs now? I gotta ask-“

“No, actually, you don’t.”

“Has the boss man gone out of his mind?”

Uriel began walking back towards the building. “We are merely acceding to Metatron’s … suggestions.”

“That’s another thing. Who’s calling the shots around here?”

“You heard Our Leige. We will employ Metatron only for as long as he is useful.”

Abaddon increased her pace to keep up with Uriel. “And Lucifer thinks he’s in charge here? You’ve heard the same things as I have about the North. It’s becoming a hegemony.”

“Ah, we’ve been improving our vocabulary, have we?”

“You’re telling me you have no concerns?”

“I know enough to keep them to myself.” And with that, Uriel stormed into the building, letting the door slam behind him.

 

Cas hadn't seen Dean's vehicle yet. Ash and Victor told him it was something that had once been called an Impala, and that Dean treated it like some combination of a treasured child and a beloved girlfriend. This puzzled Cas to no end. He had worked with tools since he was a small child himself, but did not regard any of them as a human presence.

The rumble of the engine seemed oddly familiar as Dean drove up. Cas was now used to seeing cars, much more so than the first time Ash and Victor had taken him out, but they were still a great novelty. Dean was obviously proud of her (that was one of Cas's first discoveries, that for some reason the car had been assigned a female gender). Before they could start off, Dean took him around, opening the trunk and the hood, and detailed many no doubt marvelous facts about her, almost none of Castiel understood. And then, after once again checking that the reserve tank was full, Dean bade goodbye to his brother, who had arisen early to see them off, and then they departed for the east for the neighboring territory of Louisiana.

Cas had been a little surprised that John hadn't come down to see them off, but Dean had explained that his father was not overly sentimental. 

“So, the guy we're going to see?” Dean ventured after a couple of miles.

“The librarian.”

“Yeah, more or less. He's an old friend of Bobby's. Kind of a weird dude.”

“I think everyone in the South is weird! Uh, sorry, I don't mean you of course.”

“Ha! Right back atcha, Cas.”

“Do you know anyone from the North?”

“I know one guy. You're all I need.”

Dean had explained that even with the reserve tank, they needed to stop for refueling along the way. And sure enough, along the lonely road, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, there was a small outpost. 

“This isn't well fortified,” Cas commented as the exited the car.

“This is neutral territory. So, leave your weapons in the car. All of them. And no matter who we see in there, we don't start anything. Understood?”

Cas nodded, wondering who they might see. There were other vehicles parked around, most not in anywhere as good shape as the Impala. They seemed to lack parts, like the steel plate that covered the engine, or doors. Others seemed to be patchworks made up of other cars. There were a couple of very strange vehicles with only two wheels, like extremely buffed up bicycles. And there were a number of horses tied up as well. “Folks come from all over,” Dean said. “They make a great burger. We should try-”

“Dean Winchester! You little shit!”

“Ellen!” Dean reached over and happily embraced a pretty middle-aged blond woman. “It's great to see you.”

Ellen pushed him back. “I'm still pissed as hell at you for stealing Ash!”

“He's doing okay,” Dean assured her. “You heard then?”

“Yeah, probably his own fault, the dumb bastard. But he's tough as nails. Glad he's on the mend. And what's this?” she added, turning to Cas. “You pick up a stray?”

Dean grabbed Cas by the shoulder and pulled him forward. “Ellen, this is Cas! He's our new bladesmith.”

“Him? He's barley out of diapers.”

Cas scowled at the insult, but then found himself wrapped in a hearty embrace. “Welcome, Cas! You boys gonna go in for a bite? I can take care of your baby, Dean.”

“I'll be interested to hear what's been going on,” Dean told her. Ellen nodded, and Dean led Cas inside. Cas was startled to see the place was somewhat crowded. It was strange to run into so many people after miles and miles of desert wasteland. 

Music was playing, but Cas didn't see any instrumentalists. “Where is the music coming from?” Cas asked.

“Jukebox. Come have a look!” Dean led him over to a very strange contraption. It was obviously a treasure from before the Flood. From what Cas could tell it was powered by electricity. It contained innumerable small black disks. Dean called for a coin, and when he inserted it, as Cas watched, a mechanical arm located the disk, was placed on a rotating table. A stylus then fell onto the disk, and it produced music. Dean picked a song by something he called a Lead Zeppelin. 

“Dean.”

Dean turned around to face the petite blond teenager who was now confronting him. “Oh. Uh. Jo. Hey. How are-”

But Dean never got to finish his sentence, as Jo socked him in the jaw and stormed off. Dean toppled and would have crashed to the floor had Cas not caught him as the scattered crowd in the bar laughed.

“Dean? Are you all right?” 

“I, uh, sort of deserved that, actually,” Dean told Cas, rubbing his jaw. “Actually, I totally deserved that.”

“Winchester. You always know how to impress the ladies,” said a sandy-haired man. He approached them accompanied by much shorter man.

“Kubrick. Creevy,” said Dean, greeting them, though he didn't look well pleased. “This is Cas.”

“New blood?” asked Kubrick.

“Looks like he was born a few hours ago,” snickered Creevy.

“Cas is our bladesmith,” said Dean. He leaned over Creevy. “Pity I can't show you his work while we're here inside. But maybe you can meet me outside later.” 

Creevy took a half step backwards. “Uh, no. That's OK.”

Kubrick rolled his eyes. “You boys are a long way from the Red Fort.”

Dean shrugged. “We like to go check out the neighboring territories now and then.” He narrowed his eyes. “But isn't this a long way from the Emerald Fort?” 

Kubrick and Creevy shared a glance. “We've heard Lucifer has been causing trouble,” he said, his voice low.

“I don't see any of his guys here today,” said Dean.

“Yeah, it's a little weird,” said Kubrick. 

“Could be just a coincidence.” There were nods all around. “You guys seeing a lot of Enemy action?”

Kubrick and Creevy both nodded to that. “It's like some kinda migration time or something,” said Creevy. “Mostly the little guys,” he added, holding a hand down towards the ground.

“The little guys?” snickered Kubrick, who held a hand just above Creevy's head. Dean laughed. “Mostly, we don't bother them, and they don't bother us.”

“Cas and I were gonna get some grub, but can I buy you guys a drink first?” asked Dean. There were nods, and the party approached the bar.

 

“Really appreciate this Sam.”

Sam shifted in the passenger seat. “No problem, Victor. I don't want Ash going out before he's ready. Speaking of which, are you totally sure you're OK?”

“I'm great. Arm's a little stiff. My medic got a little sloppy with the whiskey when he was stitching.”

Sam howled with laughter. “Don't tell Dean, but I have a couple healing spells that might do the trick.”

Victor shook his head. Dean's allergy to magic was well known. “How is it he gets along with Cas? I've seen that boy at work now. He lays spells on everything. One of my uncles was a journeyman bladesmith, so I know how it works. He doesn't just cast at a step or two, he imbues that shit with magic.” 

“Well, I try to stay back from my brother's affairs. As you know.”

“No doubt.”

“But you heard my dad was trying to get Cas to agree to a marriage?”

“What? Holy shit no! Dean never told me that.”

“Of course Dean didn't.”

“You might have an honest tradesman in the family?”

“It would be a first for my fucking family. Hey, what's that up ahead?”

“Dust devil likely. The wind has been kicking up.”

Sam scowled into the sun. “Are those birds?” he said, pointing towards the sky.

“Seems likely. I don't know, Sam. Probably circling some roadkill.”

“No, seriously, Victor. That's a lot of raptors. Let's go check it out.”

Victor glared up at the circling birds, and reluctantly took the car off the main road and onto a greatly rutted track that had been half obscured by the drifting dunes. They rolled up to a section near where the vultures seemed to be hovering. Occasionally, one would dive out of sight and then pull back up.

“I wanna see what they're diving at. Or who.”

“Nobody's unaccounted for at the fort, Sam.”

“I know, I know. But it's not far.”

Victor nodded, and both of them donned headscarves and ventured out up over a large dune. It didn't take them long to see what was going on.

“Oh, fuck, Sam. Let's get out of here.”

It was one of them. A small one, but one nevertheless. It was apparently alone in the middle of nowhere. There was a patch of green on one side, and a gooey green liquid tricked down. 

Occasionally, a bird would dive bomb it, and then the creature would wave it's tentacles, as if defending itself.

“It's hurt, Victor.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Green blood. Yuck.”

“Don't you think we should go check it out?”

“What? You gonna sew it up? Did you bring your whiskey?”

“We've got a medical kit in the car.”

“Sam! Their blood dissolves steel!”

“Come on, Victor. We gotta see what we can do.”

“I'm gonna regret this,” Victor muttered.

 

Dean had a cold pack for his split lip and a really tasty hamburger. He leaned forward in the booth to whisper to Cas. “Just don't ask about what kinda meat.”

Cas arrested himself in mid-bite. “Uh. What kind of meat?”

“Sometimes horse. Sometimes camel. But it's been … other stuff. Crowley would spit!”

Cas set down his burger, struck by a sudden woozy vision of it getting up and galloping off. 

“My mom wants to talk to you.”

Cas cringed when Jo appeared at their table, although she had been nothing but polite to him, and there had been no fisticuffs after her initial greeting Dean.

“You still got a helluva right, Jo. I'll tell you,” said Dean, jamming burger into his mouth.

“And what's up with the kid? You got a new boyfriend?”

“Yeah, actually. This is Cas!”

Jo directed her attention to Cas for the first time. “Wait. Really?” She leaned in towards Cas, who unconsciously edged back. “You know this guy is a meathead?” she asked, hooking a thumb at Dean.

“I haven't found him to be so, thank you for your concern.”

“Cas is our new bladesmith,” Dean told her, and Cas cringed again.

“I have full realization that I am young to be considered for that role,” Cas hastily added, shooting a glare at Dean.

Jo looked like she'd been dumbstruck. “You're a bladesmith? You make swords?”

“Uh. Swords and knives. Yes.”

Suddenly, Jo was in the booth, scooting up next to Cas. “I want a sword, but Mom won't let me have one yet. You really make swords? I should show you my knife collection!”

“Oh. Um. That would be … interesting.”

“Hey, then come on!”

Cas shot a last, desperate glance at Dean, who only smiled and crammed more burger into his face, and then he let Jo lead him away. 

Dean pushed his plate aside, and then grabbed Cas's burger and took a generous bite.

“Does he know you're eating his lunch?” Ellen asked, sliding in to the booth opposite him.

“He wasn't gonna finish it,” said Dean.

“Yeah, what did you tell him? Horse? Or camel?”

“Both!”

“Dean, you're a little shit. And how is that handsome father of yours?”

“He just got back, actually,” said Dean, wiping grease off on his pant legs. 

“No kidding? He's back at the fort?”

“Yeah. I guess he was visiting with Missouri. For one.”

“Old Misery. What did she have to say this time?”

“Same old crap. So. Cas and me, we're going to see an old friend.”

“I figured as much.” Both Ellen and Dean paused to surreptitiously glance around the room. 

“Do we need to worry about anything?” Dean asked, pulling over the plate with Cas's burger. 

“No. I don't think you'll be tailed this time. Lucifer's men, they've been scarce these past few weeks.”

“Well, that's reassuring at least.”

“I don't feel so. I used to be able to keep tabs on them at least. They'd show up, have a few drinks, and get chatty. But now, they're nowhere to be seen. It's like they've disappeared off the ends of the earth.”

“Ya know, Ellen, what we don't know won't hurt us. Hey, should we check on Cas?” he asked, just as he finished the bladesmith's burger, licking his fingers with great satisfaction.

“Where is he?”

“Jo took him.”

Ellen's face edged into a smile. “Yeah, we better.”

They found Cas lying contentedly on Jo's bed, his nose in a large old book. “I'm not saying you couldn't handle a saber, Jo. I am simply speaking from experience that it might not be the best choice.”

Jo, who was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed with a book in her lap twisted around so Cas could see the page she was looking at. “See? Like this! With a jeweled hilt!”

“And where do you propose to get these jewels, young lady?” teased Ellen.

“Cas is gonna make me a saber!” Jo announced, bouncing to her feet.

“I will make you a blade,” said Cas, who was still browsing Jo's armaments book. “As I've said, I don't think a saber will serve you best.”

“My kid's kinda hard-headed,” said Ellen, putting an arm around her daughter and pretending to knock on her head.

“My brother Inias is approximately Jo's age,” said Cas. “And I believe he is confident about his likes and dislikes. Oh, here, this is what I was referring to.”

Cas turned the book around and Jo leaned over. She whistled low. “Sexy! I could use something like that.”

“Remember, the pointy end goes in the other guy,” snarked Dean.

Jo turned on Dean. “I could sock you again!”

“Joanna Beth. No fighting,” chided Ellen. 

“C'mon Cas, we gotta get out of here.”

“Oh,” said Cas, who really looked as if he could spend the rest of the afternoon going through the book. Ellen and Jo followed them out to the car.

“Both tanks are topped off,” said Ellen. “You'll stop off on the way back?”

“Sure thing!” said Dean.

“You come back too, Cas!” said Jo, wrapping her arms around a somewhat startled Cas. 

“What about me?” asked Dean.

“You can fuck off,” Jo grumbled to him, to Dean stuck out his tongue. Jo replied in the same manner.

 

“When we get back, you're gonna be the one to explain this to your dad,” said Victor.

“Just hold on,” Sam told him. Sam had fished out a pair of rubber gloves from the trunk and was awkwardly now “bandaging” up the wounded Enemy creature with some electrician's tape. It was slow going, as the tape would tend to adhere better to the gloves than the bug, and Sam was further hindered by the big welding apron he'd wrapped around himself to avoid contact with the caustic blood. 

He paused and drew back, admiring his own handiwork. “See, this will work well. When it sheds its skin, the tape will go with it. See? It's already growing a new carapace.”

“Sam. Why the fuck are we helping one of these nightmare bugs?”

“I think it's just a baby, Victor.”

“Well, that means it's gonna grow to be an adult, and it'll come back and eat you and me!”

“Aw, come on, Victor. Hey, check this out!” he added, pointing to his feet. The creature had wrapped a couple thin tentilla around Sam's leg. “See? It knows I'm helping.”

“So what the hell do we even do with the thing?”

“I imagine we try to find its, er, parent. I guess?”

“I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that, Sam.”

“Could you run back and get another roll of tape?”

“You used a whole roll?”

“A lot of it just ended up sticking together,” Sam told him apologetically, indicating the pile of twisted tape beside him.

“Yeah, yeah. Sit tight, and talk amongst yourselves,” Victor muttered, though he was already starting to trudge up the dune towards their car.

“And could you bring me another jug of water?” Sam called after him.

“Yeah, and maybe some dancing girls? And a jazz band?”

“That would be great! Thanks, Victor!”

Victor shuffled up the dune and onto the road, pausing for a while at the car to guzzle some water and refasten his keffiyeh. He hadn't brought along his robes since he hadn't expected to be out in the desert for fucking ever. And worse yet, he'd worn the pair of boots with the hole in them, meaning when he got up to the road, half the desert came along with him. 

He looked back towards where he'd come and decided Sam and his “patient” could wait a minute. He removed the offending boot, extracting his foot and flexing his toes with a relieved sigh. And then he upended the boot and let the sand flow out. It fluttered up and then flared up into his face, borne by a sudden, ill-timed gust of wind. Victor cursed and sneezed. He looked to the horizon. Yes, dust devils. 

Victor frowned.

Leaving his boot sitting on the rutted road, he grabbed a pair of binoculars from the trunk and scanned the horizon. 

Those weren't dust devils on the horizon....

The binoculars dropped in the trunk with a thump. Victor was already running, one shoe off, one shoe, on, over the dune. 

“SAM!”

The trail was getting so close. Something tunneling their way. “Sam!”

Sam was sitting down now, the small Enemy holding several tendrils gently over his legs. He was … petting it? Victor froze as Sam looked up and waved. Beside him, the mound of sand was already growing, the sand bulging up where some great beast was reaching up with its large feeding tentacle.

“Sam! Look out!”

But it was already too late. The enormous feeding tentacle had just burst through the desert floor. It towered above Sam and the small creature for a terrifying second, and in that moment, Victor feared, Sam knew exactly what awaited him.

There was an explosion of sand, like something had punched a hole in the desert. And then they were gone: Sam, the little creature, everything. Nothing was left but a crater, and fine cloud of dust that hung over the desert like a shroud.

Victor stumbled and fell down, sitting on the dune, a last strangled scream still caught in his throat.


	7. Chapter 7

Inias spread out the book on his lap. Reading from _1,001 Tales of the South_ had become a little tradition with them, and he wanted to keep it. So much of their lives had been thrown into turmoil, first when their mother had passed away, when their father left them, and finally that terrible day when Castiel, who Inias thought of as ever loyal, had gone to see Metatron and never returned. 

It had been a lot for him to take, and he couldn't imagine what effect it must have had on Samandriel. The boy had now withdrawn from most human contact, and contented himself with his strange little pets. One of his favorite things about the South was the notion that you could find tarantulas down there. Inias stifled a shudder. He'd gotten used to the insects, but a furry spider? That was a bit much.

“Inias, more pirates!” urged the boy, who was sitting on the floor watching what even Inias admitted was a rather pretty beetle scurry back and forth. 

“All right,” said Inias. He turned back to the book on his lap. But just then there came a soft knocking at the door. “Let me get that,” he said irritably. He had no idea who would be about at this late hour. He was startled when he opened the door, a cold chill running down his spine. “Ion. Esper,” he said, greeting the grim henchmen. Without waiting for an invitation, Ion pushed past him and, along with Esper, stomped into the small cottage where the boys had been living these past few months. They talking around for a few moments, with much clattering and banging. Inias grabbed his brother, and, terrified, they both huddled in a corner.

Ion went back to the door. “It's all right,” he shouted to someone outside. 

Inias held his breath as Metatron stomped inside. “Where is your brother?”

“I- I don't know,” said Inias, trying to clutch a squirming Samandriel. “So Castiel is still alive?”

“Of course. But I can no longer see him. Where has he gone?”

“I thought he had gone to the South?” Inias tried.

“I can't see him there! What kind of magic is he using?”

With a mix of hope and terror, Inias shook his head. Somehow, Metatron had been keeping track of Castiel! But what could have happened to him. Had he come back to Lawrence?

“You don't know the magic? He hasn't taught you?”

“I don't use magic, sir. It isn't allowed.”

“I know damned well it isn't allowed, you idiot. I'm asking if you know the spell!”

 

Dean had been quiet these past few miles. Cas was aware that they had to be on the lookout for people following him. And it was getting difficult to follow the roadway here, as there were so many routes blocked by water.

The terrain had changed some miles back, and it was much more to Castiel's liking, going from the rough desert to the well-watered environment he remembered from the North. But this was different from his home: they had gone from sparse vegetation to a riot of foliage, plants bursting out all over the place here, the ground gone mad with the sheer quantity of life.

The contrast between the fertile surroundings and Dean's mood was striking. Each time they stopped for water breaching the roadway, Dean would get out of the car and fret - for what seemed like a longer and longer period of time - as to whether the car would make it over. After encountering perhaps the half-dozenth instance of a washed out road, he seemed to Cas like a lit firecracker, the fuse fizzling while you waited for the inevitable explosion. Cas, who was quiet by nature, became even more careful with his remarks. 

“Is that something up there?”

“I'm sure it's more fucking swamp,” grumbled Dean. They had both gotten out of the Impala to check the depth of yet another pool of standing water across the roadway. Dean's eyes followed where Cas was pointing, squinting into the gathering darkness of twilight. “Wait a minute,” he added. He walked back to the car and fished out a pair of binoculars, he focused on the hillside ahead. “Yeah. I think that's it. Hey. Good eye!” he told Cas. “Just not sure if this is the way,” he added sadly, pointing to the water. And then, “Hey!”

Cas, who had grown a trifle impatient, strode into the pool, was thankfully only ankle-deep. 

“Be careful, Cas! You don't know what's in there.”

Cas continued to walk across. “It's all right, I'm a strong swimmer,” he declared, having reached the other side. “For the next stretch, I'll walk, and you will follow me in the car.” And then he continued walking up the road.

Dean watched his friend for a few moments, and then declared, “Well, works for me.” He hopped into the car and followed along.

Cas walked with a kind of contentment, though his shoes and socks and pants were soaked up to his shins. He loved and missed the water. And though it was pleasant, Dean's little pool of hot springs water was really no substitute.

He passed through another pool of standing water and walked around a sharp bend when he heard the noise that sounded a lot like a man cocking a shotgun. Because that's exactly what it was. A dark-skinned man was now standing a few meters ahead of Cas, holding a long firearm pointed at about mid-chest level.

Cas, who was intensely curious about guns at the present time, was probably not appropriately frightened by the situation. “Hello,” he said. “Is that a shotgun?”

“Damn right it's a shotgun.”

“I am constructing a firearm.”

“And what are you supposed to be?” the man barked.

Cas sighed deeply. This again. “I realize that I appear very young, but I am a bladesmith.”

The man lowered the shotgun, possibly out of surprise at the odd answer. “Come again?” But he raised the weapon again when at last the Impala rounded the bend and came into sight.

The car halted and Dean leapt out, holding his hands up. “Rufus! It's okay! He's with me!”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Dean Winchester.”

Rufus thought for a moment. “Any relation to Sam?”

“I'm his brother!”

Rufus peered through the darkness. “Really? You boys don't look anything alike.”

“Rufus. I'm John Winchester's son.”

“John's boy?” Rufus lowered his weapon again.

“Yeah. Bobby Singer's friend.”

Suddenly the weapon snapped up again. “Bobby Singer? Fuck that motherfucker!”

“Rufus-”

“Is it possible we could continue this conversation elsewhere?” asked Cas. “I believe I have a leeches in my socks.”

 

The Emerald Fort was often referred to as the Littlest Sister. Not that this made it unimportant, especially as the Seven were now the Six. But it had always been understaffed and a little neglected.

Three men sat up on the roof. Two of them were engaged in a battle of wits.

“You hear that, Gordon?” asked Kubrick, one of the contestants.

Gordon remained hunched over the chessboard. “Hear what?”

Kubrick shrugged. “I could have sworn I heard something. Down below.”

“You just don't wanna lose your bishop,” said Gordon, making his move and holding up his prize.

“Aw … fucknuts,” said Kubrick, surveying the disaster of the board.

Creevy, who had been hanging around doing not much of anything at all, looked down from the battlements and said, “Hey, guys! Down there!”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “I swear, Kubrick, do you pay that guy? I'm like, three moves from check!”

Making an apologetic gesture, Kubrick stood and wandered over to the edge of the roof to see what Creevy was on about. He squinted into the dimness. “Why the hell do I always pull swing shift?” he sighed. 

“What is that?” asked Creevy, pointing into the distance.

“Think it's just dust,” Kubrick told him with a yawn. 

“Or your imagination,” said Gordon. “Your move, Kubrick.”

“Wait,” said Kubrick. “Fuck, that's not dust. Gordon!”

Gordon was on his feet and next to Kubrick in a second.

“That's one of them,” said Kubrick. 

“The Enemy!” agreed Creevy.

Gordon nodded. “Yeah, you're right. It's a little one. What the hell is it doing way out here on its own?” They grabbed weapons and headed down the stairs, although at a leisurely pace. You occasionally saw the small crawly-bugs, but they were usually easy to scare off. 

“Why the hell isn't it running away,” said Gordon when they had reached the outer courtyard.

Creevy put out a hand. “Ow!” he said, drawing it back.

“Did it sting you?” asked Kubrick.

“No,” said Gordon. “Look, it's wounded.” It was true: one side had gotten slashed, and it was oozing out that icky acidic blood. Kubrick squatted down next to Gordon. He spotted something flashing on one of the legs. He kicked at the dirt around it to find it was tethered to a fine chain that was in turn anchored to the ground. He used his sword to pick up the chain, and looked inquiringly at Creevy and Gordon.

“What the hell?” asked Gordon. “Someone's got a pet crawly-bug?”

Kubrick looked thoughtful. “Could be somebody found it wounded, and brought it back. But why didn't we hear about this?”

There was a familiar rumbling sound along the desert. 

“Oh, crap,” said Kubrick. “It's a big one. I really big one.” He looked at his comrades. “Inside! Now!”

The three raced back inside and finally arrived, panting, back up on top of the wall. As they looked down, just outside the exterior wall, the sand began to push upwards into small hillocks. The mounds swelled up in a semi-circle pattern all around the small crawly-bug.

The wall began to crack.

“Damn! It's underneath the wall!” yelled Gordon. 

“Get back!” shouted Kubrick. 

He, Gordon and Creevy backed up just as the wall buckled. Gordon and Kubrick jumped clear, but Creevy jumped and missed, screaming as he fell down with the crumbling wall.

“Creevy!” Kubrick shouted, but then he was nearly hit by a large feeding tentacle. He gave Gordon a shove and they ran across the rooftop as one entire side of the fort now buckled and plunged down into the sand below.

 

Cas sat with his feet up on a chair in Rufus's living room. Well, Cas figured it was a living room. He hadn't actually been in a lot of private residences in his time, so he was only really familiar with his family's house. It seemed that every room in Rufus's house was a kind of library, as there were books stacked everywhere.

“Are you done in there?” came Dean's voice from the kitchen. He had had to excuse himself when Rufus began pulling off the leeches. 

Rufus had used a butter knife from the kitchen to flick them off into a jar, and now was washing Cas's feet and ankles. “Can't be too careful. There's usually no harm, but I've had 'em get infected before, and that hurts like the dickens.”

“Can I come out?” Dean pleaded.

“You wanna pick up the leech jar?” laughed Rufus.

“No!” Dean poked his head into the room, looking a bit nauseated.

“All right. You can help wash him up I guess.” Rufus grabbed the jar and handed Dean the washcloth. “I thought I'd fry them up in some oil!” he said, holding the jar under Dean's nose.

“Rufus! Goddammit.” 

“You boys had dinner yet?”

“No!” Dean called.

“And Dean ate my lunch!” Cas complained.

“I didn't eat all of it.”

Cas looked at Dean accusingly. “Jo told me the hamburger was made from turkey.”

“Well, see? I told you it wasn't a cow.”

“Well, this ain't cow meat either,” said Rufus, hefting a platter of cured sausage, cheese, and a yellowy kind of cake. “I keep my cow for the milk.”

“What's the salami, Rufus?” asked Dean, who had brought out a pocket knife to cut off a hunk of sausage. “Wait, maybe you should let me eat first.”

“That one's venison,” said Rufus. “But this one?” He picked up an identical looking hunk of meat. 

Cas was picking at the yellow bread. It was sweet, but not as sweet as a cake. He liked it.

“What's that one?” asked Dean.

“Gator I shot last month. He was trying to run off with my chickens. Bastard.”

“What is a gator?” asked Cas.

“Alligator. We'll probably show you one tomorrow,” said Rufus. “It's too late to make the crossing tonight, you understand. So you boys hole up here, and we'll go first thing tomorrow.”

“That's cool.”

“You know what you're looking for?”

Dean shrugged. “Cas is looking for a spell on armaments.”

“Ought to be easy enough.”

Dean smiled. “Rufus. What's the deal with you and Bobby?”

“He knows what he did!” spat Rufus.

 

“Please.”

“Please what?” asked Lucifer.

Kubrick glanced over at Gordon's headless corpse. Then he blinked up at Lucifer, who was currently in possession of Gordon's head. Lucifer tossed the head away, thoughtlessly, as if he was tossing a ball. He directed his gaze at Kubrick. “Please, _what_?”

Kubrick struggled as Alastair held the knife at his throat. “If you want to know something, I'll tell you.”

“Well,” said Lucifer. “The sorry fact is, I don't really want anything you have. Your fortification is frankly lacking.”

Kubrick had nothing to say. He looked over at Uriel and Abaddon, who had been keeping their distance.

“Unless you know the way to Alexandria?” said Uriel.

Kubrick looked to Uriel. “You know damn well Alexandria is the Red Fort's secret.”

“We know,” said Lucifer.

“Then … why?” Kubrick's eyes were pleading.

“Practice.”

“Practice?”

“There's always a bigger fish,” said Lucifer.

“But you need us!”

“How is that?”

“We may be small, but they're only the six of us to keep the Enemy at bay.”

Lucifer snorted. “We gave you a little one. A tiny one! Gift-wrapped. And look how successful you were at keeping that at bay!” He pointed over to the ruined section of the fort, where the Enemy's tunnel had undermined the foundation.

Kubrick gazed at the broken wall and felt sick. “I know we haven't always gotten along, Lucifer. But we should be comrades!”

“A little late for that,” Lucifer sighed. “And I'm just of late finding my own morality.”

“Morality?”

“Certainly. My morality. As long as I'm having fun and not hurting anyone, then everything should be all right.” Lucifer brought a hand to his chin, looking thoughtful. “I mean, of course, I guess I am hurting someone.” He waved a hand towards Kubrick. “But I'm having a lot of fun!”

He gestured at Alastair, who slashed. Kubrick fell, his blood and his life leeching out onto the unforgiving desert.

 

They didn't bother with the car the next day, just followed Rufus's lead as he walked quickly through the swampy lands. Cas was careful to follow Rufus's footsteps, as he seemed to instinctively know where to place his feet so as not to end up ankle deep in mud. The encounter with the leeches had given Cas a healthy respect for the water hereabouts.

They came at last to a vast stretch of water. Cas couldn't see over to the other side. “Is this the ocean?” he asked. It was curious, as it didn't seem to have a tide.

“It is now! At one point, this here was the mighty Mississippi river,” Rufus told him. “It overflowed. A little.”

“Just a little,” echoed Dean.

They found their way to a flat-bottomed wooden boat. It was barely big enough for the three of them. Cas and Dean sat while Rufus stood and skillfully used a pole to ferry them across. The water here was shallow, and also quite clear, so Cas found himself staring at the bottom as they passed over old roadways.

They skimmed by a rusty metal sign sticking part way in the water.

“Alexandria?” said Cas.

“This used to be the city limits,” Rufus told them. “Now it’s an island. There it is. Up ahead.”

Just coming into view was a partially submerged city. Rufus guided the boat right up between the abandoned buildings. “This all seems like a story my mother read me,” said Cas.

“There was a real city, Venice, built on the water like this,” said Rufus. 

“In the South?” asked Cas.

“Oh, no. It was across the Wide Sea. But it's at the bottom of the ocean now. If you look around today, you'll probably be able to find pictures.”

“ _Ve-niz_ ,” repeated Cas. He was going to look.

The water became too shallow to navigate. Rufus tied up the boat and led Dean and Cas through the city, and then to a vast field that contained many rusted out cars. Dean became distracted as they walked, running to see this and that vehicle. “Damn, I could have used those parts,” he muttered.

“This was the parking lot,” said Rufus. He walked closer to the structure. Cas was completely captivated. It looked like a giant tree, only formed of pre-flood concrete. “Was this made by the Men of Letters too?”

“Naw. Just a drunk architect with too much money,” Rufus told him. “But you see why we chose this?”

“It will keep everything up out of the water.”

“Correct. Well, unless the flood waters rise a few more meters. In case, I don't think you and I would care to be here. You wanna stand back? I gotta do my mumbo jumbo.”

Cas took a cautious step back, as Rufus was casting the unlocking spell. He noticed the sigils carved into the wide pillars: a lot of them. Obviously, someone didn't want anybody wandering in here.

The locks on the two heavy wooden doors clicked, and Rufus went to heave them open. Cas and Dean followed him up some wide concrete steps into the first floor.

Castiel gasped in surprise. He had never seen so many books, not even in Metatron's villa. The hall was chock-a-block with high shelves, and every shelf was crammed full of books. 

“This is the treasure trove,” Dean told him proudly. “The Library of Alexandria. This is the reason Lucifer wants to get his hands on us.”

“Magical armaments would be up on the third floor,” Rufus told them. “You boys have fun, and I'll be back at dusk to pick you up.”

“Wait,” said Dean. “You're leaving?”

“I got shit to do, boy. You think my sausage makes itself?”

“But I thought you were supposed to be the librarian?”

“You got ‘til dusk,” said Rufus. “And then the boat is leaving, ready or not.”

“I'll be ready!” Cas assured him.

As Dean shook his head, Rufus departed, and Castiel scampered for the nearest staircase. “Wait for me, Cas! I'll never find you in this place.”

“That's all right Dean! I think I want to stay her forever!”

“Oh you do not!”

Much to his own surprise, Dean wasn’t entirely bored, as Cas kept him running after this or that book of spells or armaments, and then he had showed Dean a section with automotive manuals, and Dean had kind of lost track of time gazing at pictures of old racing cars. There was something called a Corvette made by the same company that had manufactured the Impala, and it looked like sex on four wheels. Dean set aside the book in the “check out” pile. 

Dean did manage to drag Cas outside for a while to sit on a small stand of soft grass and eat the lunch Rufus had packed them. Cas was now a big fan of Rufus’s cornbread, and begged for the recipe to take back to Crowley, though Dean couldn’t imagine the fussy chef actually allowing such simple fare in his kitchen. They drank a little of the wine, too, and then one thing led to another and they were kissing. It was lovely, feeling like the only two people in the world, knowing they were likely the only two human beings on the island. 

They were lying tangled together when Dean found himself speaking. “You know, when Rufus picks us up and takes us back, I have half a mind to just get in the car and drive, you know?”

“You mean, not go back to the fort?”

“Not go back to the fort. Just take off. Just forget about everyone, and everything.”

Cas slid around so he rested his arms on Dean’s chest. He looked into his eyes. “I still need to find my brothers.”

“I know. I know.”

“But I feel like that too,” Cas admitted.

Dean’s face broke into a smile. A soft breeze had come up, blowing Cas’s hair down into his eyes. Dean swept it away and kissed him on the forehead. 

“We need to get back,” said Cas, getting up and grabbing his pants. “I need to find a couple more volumes. Are you going to be in the automotive section?”

Dean remained lying back in the grass for a moment more. “Probably. Man, you know the Corvette? It wasn’t even made of steel!”

“Really? What was it made of then?”

“Something called fiberglass.” Dean sat up. “When it was in an accident, it didn’t get dented, it ripped!”

“How would you repair it?”

“No idea. Maybe people just went and bought a new one. There were whole factories, you know.”

“It’s difficult to imagine. And how did they lay down the magic to fiber glass?”

Dean scratched his foot and thought he should put his clothes on. He felt a little itchy. “I don’t think they used magic.”

“What? Of course they did. They always used magic.”

“I’ve heard that didn’t start ‘til after the Flood.”

“I’ve heard different.”

Dean grinned and stuck out his tongue. Cas looked affronted for a moment, and then repeated the gesture. And then he turned, still barefoot and carrying his shoes, and walked up the stairs and back into the library. Dean sat back for a moment, admiring the view, and then grabbed his own clothes.

 

“Do you have it?”

There was a silence.

“Do you have another bug?”

Lucifer peered into Metatron’s face, or rather the replica of his face, traced in blue-tinged liquid.

“We have it,” said Lucifer. He cast his eyes around to Abaddon and Uriel. “We are simply … _some_ of us … uncertain as to our next move.”

“Haven’t I outlined it for you?”

“Your instructions were clear,” said Uriel. “However, there are treaties, traditions….”

Metatron’s image in the middle of the table snorted. “And since when have treaties and traditions mattered to you people?”

Uriel straightened. “The outpost has long been a place where all are welcomed. The Harvelle family is and has always remained neutral. We do have a common cause. Do not forget that.”

“Your parrot is squawking up a storm today, Lucifer.”

“Uriel,” said Lucifer.

“I am growing impatient, Lucifer,” said Metatron. “Everything I have told you: has it worked?”

“It's worked. Though I wouldn't mind a little more information from some of those books I see around you.”

“In good time, Lucifer. Do this one thing for me, and we'll see about opening another spell book.”

“And then I'll have the Winchesters?”

“Yes, then it will be time to go against the Winchesters. And find Alexandria.”

Lucifer nodded. “It will be done.”

“Good.”

Metatron's image had barely melted back into the scrying bowl when Uriel spoke. “Lucifer.”

“No more of this, Uriel,” snapped Lucifer, who was already standing. “I agreed. Now get those lazy bastards to roust me another little one.” He spun on his heel and stormed out of Abaddon's room.

Abaddon sat back, crossing her legs, and gazed at Uriel. 

“What do you want, woman?” asked Uriel.

“You're not leaving. I notice these things. I'm pretty smart for a girl.”

Uriel glowered at Abaddon. But still, as the damnable woman had taunted, he did not rise to leave.

“The outpost, Uriel? I mean, seriously?”

“Lucifer … is our leader.”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

Uriel squirmed in his seat.

Abaddon leaned forward. “Metatron's magical spells or not, there are some lines you don't cross.”

“I don't see what we can do about it,” said Uriel. And finally, he stood up. 

“That's your excuse?” said Abaddon. She shook her head. “You can't think up a way around it?”

“I can think of many things,” said Uriel. He glanced at Abaddon, and then, rapping his knuckles on the table, made to leave.

 

Dean found Cas sitting cross-legged on the carpet up on the fifth floor, in a section that had nothing to do with either armaments nor magic.

“Where the heck did you go?” Dean asked.

Cas tilted the book over so Dean could see. It was a large picture book. “This is Venice,” he said. “It was a port in a land called Italy.”

Dean crouched down so he could see the book. It did halfway resemble Alexandria. Only it appeared that Venice had been designed to lie near the water. “It’s pretty.”

“I like water. I really miss living near the water.”

“Not a lot of water where we live, I guess.”

“Strange, in a world of water,” said Cas. “To live in a desert.”

Dean nodded.

“It’s sad that Venice is submerged now,” said Cas. “So much was lost.”

“Well, we still have Alexandria. I guess.”

“Why were people stupid?”

“You mean causing the flood? It’s not clear that’s what happened. I mean, it's not clear it was people to blame.”

“It was God’s wrath. That’s what my father told us.”

Dean slid down so he was sitting next to Cas. “I’m not sure I believe in God.”

“Really?” Dean shook his head. “You don’t believe in God. Or in magic. What do you believe in?”

Dean was thoughtful for a moment. “My family. Sammy’s always there for me. And Bobby’s always been like family. And … there’s this cranky bladesmith.”

“I’m not cranky!”

In the end, they added the Venice picture book as well as a couple of Dean’s automotive books to the pile. Rufus, when he showed up, grumbled for a while about how they would surely sink his boat, but everything fit just fine. 

The shadows stretched long, and it was in gathering darkness that they finally pushed off, Rufus once again standing up to work the pole, just like the men in Cas’s Venice book. Dean sat in back and then grabbed Cas to sit down right next to him.

“You boys think this is a date?”

“Why not?” asked Dean, his arm around Cas. “You’re our gondolier, Rufus.”

“Hey, I like that. Want me to sing you some opera?”

“Uh, no.”

“ _Hava nagila, hava nagila, hava nagila, ve-ni’smecha!_ ” sang Rufus.

“What the hell is that?” grumbled Dean.

“It means rejoice, dumb ass. I ain’t really supposed to be out working on a Friday evening, but I don’t suppose the Lord minds so much if I sing to him.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asked, and Cas stomped on his foot.

“Come on, sing along! _Hava neranena, hava neranena…._ ”

Cas started in singing along, so Dean joined in as well. 

“Wait, what’s that?” asked Cas, pointing to some strange glowing objects now hovering near the boat.

“That?” said Rufus. “That’s just some old lightning bugs.”

“They glow!”

“Yeah, there’s some creatures got it all figured out.”

“You like it, Cas?” asked Dean, tightening his arm around him. “I won’t get to take you to Venice, but this is pretty cool, huh?”

“Maybe we’ll find Venice some time, Dean. And maybe we will ride in a Car Vent!”

“A Corvette? Yeah, maybe we will.” He looked up at the shore. There were two figures standing there now. “Rufus?” 

They were holding shotguns.

“They got here today. I had no choice,” Rufus whispered. He continued poling to the shore. “I'm sorry.”

 

Blind.

I’m blind, Sam thought, blinking his eyes.

But after a moment, the softly glowing objects came into focus. He was some place dark. And cold.

He groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyes adjusting to the dimness. Everything seemed to be intact, arms and legs where they should be. His clothing on the other hand was in pretty bad shape, with big holes everywhere. 

And he’d completely lost his shoes.

What the hell?

He thought about standing up, got to his knees, and then decided verticality was a bad idea. The floor underneath him was dirt. He crawled over to touch the wall. The wall was earthen as well. He reached up to touch one of the softly glowing lights and it ended up falling down, flopping onto the floor.

And then it crawled away.

“Ew!” grunted Sam, surprised at the sound of his own voice. “I’m in a cave,” he told himself, more to hear himself speak than anything. 

His back felt itchy. He reached around to scratch. There seemed to be a large welt on the small of his back, but he couldn’t position himself to turn around and look. A sting? Something had stung him.

He froze, seeing the movement. There was something at the mouth of his small chamber. He pressed himself back as far as he could on the low wall of the cave.

Sam stifled a gasp when he recognized the undulating tentacles. But he was further startled when he saw the remains of electrician’s tape hanging off the creature’s back. 

It approached, and he felt a wave of calmness wash over him. That was strange: he should be scared out of his mind right now. The creature was carrying something in its tentacles. It placed it carefully down on the floor of the cave, and then, after remaining there for a little while, retreated. 

Sam crawled over to see what the hell the thing had left him. It seemed to be branches of a bush. Sam recognized the smell from some salad Crowley’s kitchen had cooked up. Yes, there were small purple berries studded in the branches. 

Sam suddenly realized he was starving. He wondered if the berries would be all right to eat? He picked one off and stuck it in his mouth. It was delicious, so sweet. He grabbed some more and ate them, until he had completely picked the branches clean.

“It’s bringing me food?” he thought. It must have been a coincidence. Maybe it was building a nest or something? Did these things nest?

A wave of drowsiness hit him, and Sam lay down again and fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean, his hands bound behind him, sat in angry silence on Rufus's floor. 

“Suppertime!” said Rufus brightly, coming into the room holding a basket.

“You're going to feed this scumbag, Rufus?” said Dean, who glowered over at the yellow-eyed man.

“A little kidnapping among friends is no excuse to go hungry,” said Rufus. He held up the basket. “I just gotta go out and get some eggs.”

“Isn't it a little late for laying?” asked the yellow-eyed man suspiciously.

“Got me some lazy chickens,” said Rufus. “Am I dismissed?”

The yellow-eyed man glared at Rufus. “Belphegor,” he told his companion. “Go with him. Keep him out of trouble.”

His chubby friend, brandishing his shotgun, nodded to Rufus, and they both left through the back door. Dean kept up his stare at the yellow-eyed man, who smirked and went back to his book.

Cas, who was sitting beside Dean, also bound by ropes, looked over in concern. “Do you know this person, Dean?” Cas whispered.

“Cas,” said Dean, a little too loudly. “Meet Azazel. Please meet the man who murdered my mother in cold blood.”

“Oh,” said Cas his eyes gone wide.

Azazel glanced over from where he was sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a large picture book. “So, you two planning a vacation?” he asked, holding up a picture of Venice and snickering.

“That is Venice! You should have more respect!” thundered Cas. He moved as if to scramble to his feet, but Dean leaned over and nudged him, shaking his head. Cas glowered.

“You still working for Lucifer?” asked Dean.

“I work for whoever pays me the most,” said Azazel. “And finding Alexandria will pay a pretty penny. Everybody's gone fucking nuts for these books for some damn reason.” He slapped the Venice book closed and dumped it on the floor, earning an actual low growl from Castiel.

Azazel crouched down and cupped Cas's chin with his hand. “And they'll pay more if I come back with a bladesmith, I think.”

It was Dean's turn to growl. “You're not touching him.”

“And your head on a platter,” said Azazel, reaching over and ruffing Dean's hair.

There was squawking and shouting coming from outside.

“What the hell?” asked Dean.

Azazel stood and stared, but the widows were dusty and grimy and it was difficult to see in the darkness. He grabbed his shotgun and pointed it at Dean and Cas. “Don't you move,” he warned them.

 

Sam awoke in the now familiar darkness.

He rose up to a sitting position and wondered how long he had been out. There was no way of telling in the perpetual dimness. How long had he been gone? How long since the creatures … took him?

He noticed there were brand new branches now in the room. Hell, this time they'd dragged in what looked like an entire bush. These were rich with berries, so he took advantage and crammed as many as he could find into his mouth.

“All right, time to get going,” he told himself. Using the wall to steady himself he lurched up into a standing position.

His badly torn pants rapidly fell down around his ankles. Sam cursed and, with some effort, bent down and pulled them back up, managing to get them tied around his waist so at least his ass wasn't hanging out. He dug into a pocket and with some relief found his lighter was still there. Breaking off some of the dry branches from the bush, he twisted them together and lit the end with the lighter, creating an improvised torch.

Holding his breath, he edged along the wall to the doorway of his chamber. Fortunately, the little glowing worms were crawling everywhere, so there was a bit of dim illumination in addition to his flickering torchlight. 

He looked up and down the main tunnel. Seeing no obvious way to an exit, he chose the direction that seemed to be sloping upwards. He walked, barefoot, slowly along the cave, every moment watching and listening for the sound of creatures approaching, tracing his fingertips along the walls. He wondered as he walked if the cave formations were natural. As they knew the beasts were great burrowers, he thought it was possible this had all been created by the Enemy. 

But why hadn't he been killed? It nagged at him. And it looked an awful lot like the little one was trying to feed him. The strangest thing was that he seemed to sense an intelligence. It was like it wanted to communicate with him. 

It was nothing like he'd been led to expect.

Progress was slow, as he was still weak, and he froze, pushing himself against the wall every time he heard - or thought he heard - a noise. 

He turned around another blind bend and stopped. There was something on the floor of the cave. He crept forward and knelt down, squinting in the flickering light of his torch. Even in the dimness he recognized them: they were diamonds. They were all lying at the entryway to another small chamber, like the one he had been in. He drew nearer to the doorway and peeked inside.

The entire chamber was filled with piles of diamonds.

He walked on, now stopping whenever he saw a doorway to a side cave. There was another chamber that appeared to be piles of gold. And another of silver. Emeralds. Rubies. Sam gawped. He had heard the creatures collected precious stones and metals. The bug's hoard. It was a bedtime story they told you as a kid. But the legends were all true. The legends, actually, had no fucking clue. He was Aladdin, trapped in the treasure-filled cave.

And then he saw it: a slanting of sunlight.

Checking once again up and down the corridor, he broke into a clumsy shambling run towards the end. He careened around a bend and then slowed as the angle of the floor went from a gentle slope to a good forty-five degree grade. He emerged, gasping for breath, underneath the harsh desert sun, but he did not stop running. He loped and stumbled and dragged up and down the dunes, until the cave entrance was no longer in sight.

And the he collapsed, breathing hard, completely exhausted, and with, he realized, utterly no idea where he was.

 

The cabin's back door burst open and Rufus stood there, a terrified look on his face. “Come quick! It's a goddamn gator got your friend!”

Azazel, still holding a gun on Dean and Cas, appeared indecisive for a long moment, but finally headed towards the door, telling Rufus, “Watch those two!” He glared back at Dean and Cas. “I'll be back!” he declared, and stomped out the door.

Rufus watched him go, and then, grabbing a knife, calmly crouched down and began to cut Dean and Cas free.

“Rufus? What the hell?” said Dean as he rubbed his wrists.

“My apologies, boys. I had to make damn sure those guys weren't being followed.” He flicked the knife, and Cas, too, was free. “Now, if I were you, I'd get in your car and get your asses out of here.”

There was a scream and a gunshot from out back.

“You need us to help, Rufus?” asked Dean.

Rufus smiled wide. “No, I think Lulabelle has got them taken care of.”

“Lulabelle?” asked Dean.

Rufus's smile got wider, and he nodded towards his back door. Dean and Cas glanced at each other and then headed over, carefully opening the door.

“Oh, uh yeah.” Dean slammed the door shut. He looked a little nauseous.

“That is a very big alligator, Rufus,” said Cas.

“Needed something to protect my chickens from the other gators,” Rufus told them proudly. “Plus, she has other uses. Now, like I said, I think you boys should clear out.”

He didn't need to ask twice.

 

A horse?

No, it couldn't be.

He was hallucinating. Half-crazed and hallucinating.

And then there was a shadow.

Sam put his hand up over his eyes.

“You're a long way from home.”

The voice was female. He lowered his hand and looked up a her.

Beautiful. A halo of blond hair. _An angel_.

He was obviously hallucinating.

“Hello? Hey, stay with me!”

 

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Dean had been quiet since the escape from Rufus's place, sitting in the driver's seat, staring at the road ahead. 

“That man, Azazel....”

“He killed our mom.”

“I'm sorry, Dean.”

Dean stared at the road for a long time. “Dad was away. Because he was always away. Even back then. And Sammy was just a baby. We're still not sure what happened. Not even to this day. And, I guess, with Azazel in Lulabelle's digestive system, maybe we'll never know.”

The traveled in silence for a time. “Did you...? Did you see it?” Cas finally asked, his voice soft.

“She was trying to use magic! Against a sword, Cas.”

Castiel considered for a while. “Your mother was very powerful. That's what Sam told me.”

“I thought so. I guess we all thought so.”

“Dean. Do you remember what she said? The words?”

Dean seemed far away. He started to speak, stammering the words....

Cas nodded. “I recognize that one. It's not aggressive magic, though.”

“Huh?”

“That's a protective charm. A very powerful one. It's similar to the protective charms I use when forging certain blades.”

“What?” Dean seemed to snap out of a trance. “A protective charm?”

“Yes.”

“I thought she was kicking his ass.”

“She was casting protective magic around you and Sam. As a parent, that sounds like a reasonable thing to do. Dean!” This last was shouted as the car veered off the road and came screeching to a halt at the edge of the asphalt. “Dean?”

Dean was hunched over the wheel, his body trembling. Cas extended a hand cautiously and lightly touched Dean's shoulder. “I always thought...” Dean whispered, the words choked out. 

“She wanted to keep you safe. You and your brother.”

Dean's eyes were wet. “I'm sorry, Cas. I'm being an idiot. I know you lost your mom too.”

“You still have your family. Your father. And Sam.”

“And you.” Dean cupped Cas's jaw, stroking a thumb down his cheek. “And we'll find your brothers too. I swear.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean wiped his eyes on a sleeve and looked ahead. “Hey, is that smoke up there?”

 

“You found him where?”

Jess sighed and rolled her eyes, even though her cousin couldn't see. 

“I told you, Pammy. He was out in the middle of nowhere.”

Pamela snorted and considered the large man now occupying Jessica's bed. Though she couldn't see, there were other ways of perceiving. He was unconscious, and his feet hung over the edge. “How is it you go out, you find naked men?”

“He's not all naked! Come on, tell me how he is.”

Pamela blinked sightless eyes and held her hands about a foot or so up over the injured man, brushing them along as if she were measuring something. “Dehydrated. Some minor malnutrition. And he needs pants! But otherwise, you scored a good find. He's been stung, but that's already going down” She shrugged. “He might be itchy.”

“So let him sleep it off?”

“Yeah, basically, and see where the hell you get shoes for feet that size.”

Jess snickered. “He is kinda cute,” she whispered, leaning over and draping her arms over Pamela's shoulders. “Is he nice?”

Pamela stiffened. “You know that's intruding.” She turned her head towards Jessica. “But, yeah.”

 

Dean knew something was wrong. They saw the trail of smoke from miles away. “It can't be,” he kept repeating to himself.

Cas stayed quiet. With much regret, he remembered their conversation in Alexandria about forgetting everything and heading off in the opposite direction. They were traveling right back to their cares and woes, Dean to protecting his territory from Lucifer and the more literal monsters, as well as whatever Metatron had in mind. And Cas still needed to find his family: his brothers seemed more remote to him with each day that passed.

“God damn,” said Dean when they drew so close he could no longer deny it. The desert outpost was gone: what little was left of it was now on the edge of a great crater, and the remains had been burnt to the ground. They exited the car and walked around, but there was nothing but already charred, twisted wood. And no sign of survivors. No Ellen. No Jo.

“The Enemy hit here?” asked Cas.

“Yeah, the Enemy. But it looks like they had some help.” Dean traced his fingers over the blackened remnants of a door, and Cas saw the markings, as if it had been hit with a sword. 

There was no trace of the Harvelles or any living soul. Cas toed through some of the ashes and then bent down to uncover an item. He picked it up. It was Jo's book of armaments, the one he had spent a pleasant afternoon leafing through not so long ago. He pulled it to his chest, not certain why he was feeling so miserable: he had only met these people just the once. 

“Let's go,” Dean told him. “We have a lot of miles, and I want to try to get home before nightfall.”

Cas nodded and, still clutching Jo's book, made his way back to the car.

 

Sam blinked. Daylight! 

“I'm not blind!” he whispered.

“Good for you, Sweetcheeks,” came a voice. A female voice.

Sam struggled to sit up. He was on a bed. A nice, comfy bed. And staring into the obviously blind eyes of an attractive brunette. She was sitting in a chair near his bedside, knitting. “Uh. Hello?”

“Water?” she asked, gesturing towards a glass.

“Oh yeah,” said Sam. He grabbed the glass and downed the contents in one long gulp. “Thanks, uh...?”

“Pamela. And you might be-? Not that I mind calling ya Sweetcheeks.”

“Sam.” Oddly, though she was obviously unable to see, Pamela was faced in his direction. And then he remembered. “Uh, are you the one-?”

She grinned. “No, I'm not the one. Wait a minute. Hey, Jess!” she shouted. “Sleeping Beauty has awakened.” She turned back towards Sam. “Your Princess Charming is on her way.”

“Hey.” 

Sam turned to the doorway, where a breathtaking blonde had just arrived, pink-cheeked and slightly out of breath.

Sam felt a bit out of breath himself.

“Sam, this is Jessica. My cousin. Jess-”

“Hi!” said Jess.

“Hi,” said Sam. “I- I thought you were an angel.”

And then they continued staring, a little dopily, at each other.

“OK you guys, knock it off!” Pamela barked, clapping her hands. “Jess, he's been on his ass for a while, why don't you take him to get something to eat?”

Sam was up out of bed. “Hey, steady,” cautioned Jess as he tottered a little bit. “You fall down, you'd crush us both!” She caught his arm, draping it over her shoulders, and led him out of the room while Pamela stayed behind, snorting with laughter and continuing to knit.

Sam and Jess walked down a broad corridor for a time in silence. They finally stopped a room that had been turned into an improvised kitchen. It had a cooler and hot plates, all hooked up to a small generator. It was sunny in this part of the building: not because of windows, but because part of the structure had crumbled away, and the hallway was partially opened to the outside.

“What is this place?” Sam asked, peering over a broken wall.

“This was the Sapphire Fort.”

“What? This is the seventh fort?”

“Was is the operative term,” said Jess. She had pulled a pitcher from the cooler and handed Sam a glass of iced tea. Sam self-consciously hitched up the too-short knit pants he was wearing. “There wasn't a whole lot left of your clothes,” Jess told him.

“Bug blood ate it away I guess.”

“What the hell were you doing wandering around in my desert?” Jo asked.

“ _Your_ desert, huh? I'm from the Red Fort.”

“The Ruby Fort, you mean?”

Sam laughed. “We never call it that, but yeah.”

“Is it still run by the Winchester family?”

“Is that good or bad?” asked Sam, tilting his head.

“Good, I guess. Our founder was reputed to be friends with Henry Winchester. They were both Men of Letters.”

“Henry Winchester! My great-great-several-greats-grandpa. He was supposed to be an interesting guy. They say I take after him. A little.”

Jess stopped and stared for a a moment. 

“I thought you said Winchester were good?” asked Sam.

“You're Sam ... _Winchester_?”

“Yeah.” 

Jess was silent. “Well. I suppose Pamela already knew. And didn't care.”

“And what about you? Are you the only ones here? And what the hell do you do out here?”

“It's just us, yeah. And the animals. There were more families still here when I was just a kid, but they've all left. But we get by. And Pamela has managed to lay down enough warding spells that we don't get bothered too often. That's why it was so strange finding you here. Pamela says she was scrying and saw you come out of a bug den!”

“It's true! The last thing I remember, Victor and I were patching up a bug-”

“Wait, you were helping a crawly-bug?”

“It was a little one. And it was wounded.”

“Wounded? That's strange. Those things are tough. Even the young ones.”

“Then the mom came, and next thing I know, I'm in Aladdin's cave.”

“Aladdin?” asked Jess, but Sam answered by pulling a diamond out of his pocket. 

“There were whole rooms full of jewels and precious metals!”

“This isn't the biggest we've found,” said Jess, weighing it in her hand. “But it's pretty impressive.”

“Wait, you knew about the caves?”

“I can't say I've actually been inside. But if you know where an entrance is, you'll find stuff like this.”

“No shit?”

“You wanna see?”

“Sure! Man, wait 'til I tell Dean about this.”

Jess looked pained. “Dean is-?”

“My brother.”

“And he's back at the Ruby Fort.”

“Yeah. That's going to be a problem?”

Jess stared at him. “Yeah. That's gonna be a problem.”

 

“It was an agreement! It's lasted as long as anybody can remember. You don't screw with the outpost. Nobody screws with the outpost.”

“It appears that someone screwed with the outpost, Dean.”

“It's good we keep Alexandria a secret. Otherwise that would be a smoking ruin too.”

Cas gawped and clutched at the book that was open on his lap. When Dean had continued to drive in silence for many miles, Cas had taken to leafing through Jo's book. But now Dean was talking. He seemed to need to talk. “No. They wouldn't do that, would they?” The thought of all those books, gone....

“Watch them. Lucifer doesn't give a fuck about consequences. He just wants to hurt us.”

“I don't understand,” said Cas. And he didn't. He searched up ahead. “What is that?”

“I don't see.... Oh! Good eye. Well, I guess we'll find out when we get there. Get that thing off your lap and grab weapons.”

Cas carefully closed the book and stowed it under the seat, and then pulled out his sword. Dean stepped on the gas. He'd been nervously eyeing the fuel gauge since they left the outpost. They evidently had enough gasoline to get back, but just barely, so he had been driving a bit slower than he was used to in order to conserve fuel. Cas opened the glove compartment and dug out a pair of binoculars, and then tried to focus them in the shaking car. The question was now whether to slow down for the vehicle they had spotted up ahead, or to try to speed by.

Cas squinted, concentrating. “Well, what is it, Cas? Friend or foe?”

“Dean. Slow down.”

Dean was out of the car almost before it had come to a stop.

Ellen was so surprised she nearly didn't get her shotgun lowered in time for Dean to tackle her in a hug. “Ellen!”

Jo popped out from behind the truck and threw her arms around both of them.

“I don't believe it!” Dean gasped as he finally let them go. “I was sure you guys.... Well, we saw the outpost.”

Ellen nodded grimly. “I saw the smoke. We got a warning. Not even enough time to throw our shit into the truck. Or fill up the reserve. We just jumped in and drove until we ran low.”

“I lost everything,” whispered Jo, her eyes tearing up. 

“Not everything,” said Cas. He held up the volume he had recovered. “I have your book of armaments.”

Jo put a hand on the book, and then had her arms wrapped tightly around Cas. “Thank you!” He awkwardly patted her on the back. 

“We don't have enough to fill you up,” Dean told Ellen. “You guys wanna hitch a ride with us?”

Ellen and Jo transferred their few possessions into the Impala, and they set off once again. Cas thought it would be polite to ride in back with Jo, but was startled when she curled up against his shoulder after a few miles and drifted off to sleep. But then – maybe influenced by the soft sound of Jo's contented snoring – Cas too fell asleep a few miles on.

“That's just cute as hell,” said Ellen checking the rear view mirror. “So how is our friend, the librarian?”

“Feisty as ever,” said Dean. “And we were followed.”

“How the hell did they do that?”

“Not sure.” 

“Seems like there's some terrible magic afoot lately,” said Ellen. They drove in silence for a while. “I suppose I'm not supposed to ask what you boys were doing in Alexandria?”

“Cas thought he could find some ways to improve his techniques. He's been making swords for us, Ellen. And … he's amazing.”

“There's a lot of magic around a forge,” Ellen said evenly.

“He's good. He's like Sam. He's like....”

“Like your mom?”

Dean bit his lip. “I don't trust that stuff.”

“I know you don't, kid.” She glanced back and Cas and Jo. “So, what does your dad make of this? You said he was back.”

“Me and Cas?” Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “He was trying to get me married off!”

Ellen covered her mouth when she laughed so she wouldn't wake Cas and her daughter. 

“It's not funny, Ellen!”

“Aw, c'mon, Dean! He's cute as a button. Jo would be all over him.”

“I've got responsibilities, Ellen. And so does he.”

“You need to be a good leader. That means looking out for your family. Lonely men are rotten leaders, Dean.”

Dean sighed. He glanced at Ellen. “He's not a rotten leader, Ellen.”

“I wasn't talking about your dad.”

“Yes you were.” He eyed her again. “I just think after Mom died.... I don't think he thought he could do the whole family thing any more.”

“So he left you boys to Bobby.”

Dean was silent for a moment. “Maybe if you guys had been at the fort, you and Jo....”

“The outpost needed tending.” Ellen looked back at her daughter. “And I needed some distance from that man.”

“That's a hell of a lot of distance!”

“Maybe someday you'll understand.” 

 

“Absolutely not,” said Pamela.

“I'm sorry?” said Sam.

“You aren't going anywhere, Pretty Boy.”

“The name is Sam. And, yeah, I gotta get back to the fort. Everybody probably thinks I'm dead!”

“Then you won't be missed,” said Pamela.

“Look, Pamela. Be reasonable,” pleaded Jess.

“Jess, you remember how fucking long it took me to lay down all those warding spells? If we leave now, it's going to screw everything up for months!”

“But you could lay them again....”

“Not now, Jess. Not while Lucifer is going haywire!”

“Lucifer is always going haywire,” said Sam.

Pamela looked grave. “He's been using the Enemy for his attacks. I'm not sure how though.”

Sam's jaw dropped. “What are they doing?”

“The Emerald Fort: it's in ruins. I've seen it! And there's a bug crater below the main wall.”

“Then I really need to get back! I need to tell everybody!”

“I can't put us at risk! What's wrong with waiting here a few months until things die down? Then you can go back to the Ruby Fort.”

“Pamela, you don't understand! If I wait, there might not be a Red Fort!'

 

Dean knew something was badly wrong when Bobby and Victor rushed over to meet the car. Both of them looked ill with worry.

“We didn't know when you two would be back, son,” said Bobby quietly. “Ellen.” He tipped his hat.

“It was my fault,” said Victor.

“No, it wasn't,” Bobby snapped.

“And where the hell is my dad?” Dean demanded.

“He lit off. Dean, I'm sorry.”

Dean searched Bobby's face. “Sorry for what? Will someone tell me what you're sorry for?”

Bobby gripped Dean's shoulders. “It's Sam.”

Ellen pulled Jo in close. Cas stood silently by, holding his breath. 

“What about Sam?”

“He was out with me,” Victor babbled. “It was Sam and me. Because Ash was still on the mend. We thought we need to keep up patrols, but we're short-handed....”

Bobby was still holding Dean's shoulders. “It was one of them. The Enemy.”

“He wanted to help,” Victor continued. “One of them was injured, and he wanted to help it, and then one of the big ones came....”

Dean's breath caught. “Where is Dad? Bobby, where the hell did he go?”

Bobby looked pained. “Dean, it hit him hard.”

Dean wrested himself from Bobby's grip. “So hard he didn't even stick around for the fucking funeral?”

“That's your father,” said Ellen softly. She was tearing up, and holding Jo close. 

“I think he went to seek out Reverend Jim,” Bobby told Dean.

Dean shook his head. He turned and stormed away. He walked up the steps and kept walking until he reached a lonely section of the roof. And then he stood, breathing hard, fuming. 

“I just need to be alone now, Cas.”

Castiel, who had followed him, nodded silently. 

“Alone. Meaning alone.”

“Yes,” said Cas. “I'll be alone with you then.”

Dean laughed: a desperate, strangled sound. And then he went and engulfed Cas in a bone-crushing hug. “I don't understand you,” Dean told him. He wiped his eyes. He felt like killing something. He felt like taking a header off the roof. He felt like grabbing Cas and getting back in the car and going – just going. It was a million things. But the worst was the horrible feeling of nothing in the pit of his stomach. That was it? All the life Sam got to live?

 

“Magic,” said Lucifer. “More magic. That was the deal.”

“And in case you haven't been listening, I wanted you to catch a bladesmith and find me Alexandria. Neither of you seem to be able to achieve!”

Metatron's face was bluish, as it always was in Abaddon's scryings. But Uriel could imagine his face flushed red with fury. “What is your hurry?” Uriel asked, as pleasantly as he could muster. Abaddon shot him a glance, but he tried to avoid eye contact. The traitorous woman was starting to make sense to him, and this was something he needed to avoid. “You must understand, things move more slowly out here, in the desert.”

“Your parrot is squawking again.”

“But he asks a good question, Metatron,” said Lucifer. 

Metatron stood up to his full height, unfortunately was not impressive. “You should be grateful, boy. I have elected to help you at present. Tomorrow, I could very well lend my help to aid someone else. Someone who gets things accomplished.”

“I need a concealment spell – a powerful one – if we're to attack the Red Fort.”

“Why won't my tactics work?”

“Believe me, they are more wily than that!” Lucifer huffed. “Metatron: give me the Red Fort, I will give you Alexandria. On a silver platter.”

 

The morning of Sam’s funeral dawned dim and grey.

Dean stood up on his favorite spot on the roof. He usually looked to the horizons, but today he could see nothing but the stones at his feet. “I should go to the fucking funeral. If Dad isn't there. Dammit. You'll come with me, right? They need to see me now.”

“Of course.”

Dean nodded. Cas had barely left his side these past couple of days. It had been a great comfort.

“Dean. Does this facility have mounted cavalry?”

“What? No.”

“Two riders are approaching.”

Dean ventured over to the edge of the roof, where Cas was now standing. “Oh, fuck. What now?” He looked at Cas. “We gotta get down there. More bad news!”

Dean led Cas down to the ground floor, to outside the fort's entryway. He immediately regretted this. There were so many people looking at him with pity in their eyes.

A coffin was up on an improvised dais. Behind the dais sat Kevin the kitchen boy, playing something really sad on a cello. Dean gawped at him. Kevin had a cello? When the hell had they dragged this fucking thing out to the fort? It seemed wasteful as hell.

Cas was looking at him expectantly. In fact, a whole lot of people were looking at him. Dean heaved a sigh and climbed up on the raised platform. He winced and, signaling Kevin to cut the dirge, looked into the coffin.

“Empty,” Kevin told him. “There.... I don't think there was a body?”

Dean shook his head and looked back over the crowd. “I think you guys want me to talk about my brother. Trouble is, I don't know where to even start. Maybe you guys could tell me. I know the world won't be the same. It's never gonna be-”

“Dean!”

Dean looked down to where Cas had been standing, but now he'd taken off running towards the mouth of the valley, as had several other people.

The riders Cas had spotted had now reached them. There was one horse in front and another in back tethered to the first horse.

The horse in front had two riders. The first was a lovely young girl. 

The second was Sam Winchester, who slipped off rather awkwardly to stand unsteadily in front of his huffing brother.

Dean gawped at Sam, staring, unbelieving. “You're late,” Dean said at length. “You're late to your own fucking funeral.”

Sam smiled a lop-sided smile and hitched up the far-too-short pants tied around his waist. “Uh. Sorry?” But Dean had already gathered him in a hug. 

“God dammit, Sammy. You gave us a scare! You gave me a scare.”

“What the hell?” said Victor, who was amongst the many people now gathered around the new arrivals. “I saw you taken!”

“I'm not exactly sure,” said Sam. He indicated the women he had arrived with. “Pam and Jess found me wandering around in the desert.”

“More like passed out in the desert,” cracked Pamela, blinking her odd, all-white eyes. “Hey, can we get something to drink here? I'm parched.”

“Crowley!” barked Bobby. “You prepared the funeral banquet?”

Crowley stepped forward, flanked by a couple of sous-chefs. “Yes, of course. Although I think now it will be more of a 'felicitations: he's not dead' banquet.”

“Well, you sit these gals at the head table. They brought our Sam back.”

Crowley, who broke into a small smile, courteously offered an arm to Pamela and led the women inside.

“Come on Sammy,” said Dean, who was beaming. “Let's go inside. We gotta get drunk.”

“Uhhh, could I get some pants first?”


	9. Chapter 9

“No dice, Sweet Cheeks,” said Pamela.

They were not half as drunk as Dean would have liked. At a certain point during the funeral banquet-turned-welcome-back-feast his curiosity had overcome him, and he had invited their new guests, Jessica and Pamela, back to his office for a debriefing. The Sapphire Fort! It was a day of miracles, and Dean was not one to believe in miracles. And better yet, they were evidently kinsmen to Josiah Moore, one of the Men of Letters.

Cas, who was now sitting cross-legged up on his desk, had thought to grab a bottle of wine from one of the tables. Which was one reason why, Dean reflected, he had come to love Cas. He allowed himself a brief, besotted look as Cas refilled his glass, and then turned to Pamela. Even though she was blind, he thought it polite to look her in the eye when they talked. But none of this seemed to be getting through that thick, psychic skull. “I just think, in light of what happened to our friend Ellen, that you guys would be safer here. For the time being.”

Pamela, who was sitting in the guest chair, snorted and held out her own glass. “Hit me, angel.” Cas obligingly hopped down and supplied more wine. “Look, bringing back your baby brother was the right thing to do. And I don't mind that my cousin here talked me into it. But I fucked up some of my protection and concealment spells when we left, so I need to get back to start putting everything right. We need to get back,” she added, pointing her face towards where Jess and Sam were sitting together on a small, ratty couch. They were sitting politely side by side, not touching, but Dean hadn't missed the fact that they had spent the evening basically being inseparable, dotted with the exchange of slightly silly glances. Well, he didn't blame Sam: as a rescuer, she was pretty damned cute. And she was brave, too, if she was riding around Enemy tunnels.

Dean leaned back and aimed his most charming smile towards Pamela's somewhat more rational cousin. “So, that's what you wanna do, Jessica: hustle back to your home. I mean, not that I blame you.”

“You can call me _Jess_.” Sam quickly smiled at her. “And, I dunno, Pamela. Maybe we should stay here, at least for a while?” Sam smiled again.

“Yeah, okay, they're overstocked on outrageously cute men here,” Pamela told her. Dean flinched. “But that's not gonna be much help when the shadow from the North descends. And mark my words, he'd coming.”

“Metatron?” asked Dean.

“Is that what he's calling himself these days? And he's not gonna be too pleased to find a witch.”

“Metatron is a magic user too,” Cas told her. He squinted across the room at her, head canted at a slight angle, as he did when he was confused.

Had she been sighted, Pamela probably would have rolled her eyes. “Yes, he is. Don't you get it? He wants to be the magic user. The only one. The guy's a hoarder.”

“That makes sense, Dean,” Cas told him.

Dean crossed his arms across his chest. “I dunno, why the hell should I believe you?”

“So what? Don't believe me. And let us go back, where I can keep us safe.”

“Pam, I don't think-” Jess started.

“Dean!” shouted Garth, swinging the door open wide. “It's in the kitchen! You gotta come! Now!”

“Oh, now what?” moaned Dean as Garth grabbed at his arm and attempted to wrest him up from his chair. Dean, along with Sam and Cas, nonetheless followed the nearly incoherent kitchen assistant down several flights of stairs and deep into the bowels of the kitchen. 

They arrived at a dining hall where it looked like the entire staff of the kitchen had assembled. “What the hell is going on?” Dean barked.

“Crowley's in there,” said Kevin, pointing to one of the swinging double doors.

“And?”

Kevin gave him a funny half smile. “You could say … there's a bug in the soup.”

Dean shook his head and impatiently smashed through the doors and stalked into the kitchen. Where he suddenly pulled up short.

“Keep back, foul beast!” Crowley was shouting. He held a knife in each hand, and appeared to be yelling at one of the larger iron cauldrons where he kept his soup stock simmering.

And then a thin tentacle wove its way out of the pot, and then a very large bug head followed that.

“Holy fucking shit stay back!” said Dean. He looked around the kitchen and noticed a gaping hole in one of the walls. “Did it tunnel in here?”

“It would appear so,” said Cas, who went over to examine the hole.

“What the hell, Crowley?”

“I was creating my award-winning vegetable consommé when that monster came through my wall and started using my soup pot as a fucking bathtub. Get out of there, you mutant!”

Crowley emitted a high-pitched scream as the beast suddenly wriggled up the side of the soup pot, tipping it over and spilling prize-winning broth all over the floor. It continued its forward progression on many little legs until it stood in front of Sam, tentacles wriggling in anticipation.

“Stay back, Sam,” Dean warned.

But Sam noticed the electrical tape flapping on the back. “Dean. This one is mine.”

“What the hell?”

“This is the one Victor and I were helping. Hey,” he told it. “Did you follow me?” He extended a hand, and the creature reached out a thin tentacle, gently wrapping it around his arm. 

Dean waved his arms. “Sam, what are you doing? Don't touch it!”

“Dean, I think it tried to help me.” Sam had sat down on the floor now. “It was brought me food, I think. Then I ran off, and it got worried. I mean, I feel like it's worried.”

“It's worried? Sam, I think maybe you spent too much time out in the sun.”

“No, Dean,” Cas interjected. “I think it's possible that your brother has developed some sort of empathic connection with this creature.”

“My brother can read the mind of a bug? Great.”

The creature unwound itself from Sam and then puttered back over to the spilled soup, where it drank lustily.

“So. It likes you, and it likes prize-winning consommé. What the hell do we do now?”

“I guess we need to get it back. But meanwhile.... I don't know. I guess we find some place it can't tunnel out of, and feed it soup?”

“God damn. Seriously? I'm den mother to a fucking Enemy?”

“Dean! Don't insult her.”

“It's a her? You can tell?”

Sam was brought up short. He stood, patting the creature on its carapace. “Um. Well, it seems to be female,” was all he could come up with.

 

“So. My brother is a bug psychic.”

“Ummm.” Cas was spending yet another late night at the smithy. Since hearing Pamela's warning, he had become obsessed with forging his magical gun. So Dean, bowing to the inevitable, came down here to be with him. Cas put a finger on the page he was currently reading and looked over at Dean. “You found a place for the creature?”

“They're keeping it penned up in a courtyard. One with a stone floor. We think it can't tunnel out, but nobody fucking knows. And Crowley gets to feed him soup. I think he's growing fond of the stupid thing. Either that, or he's planning it as a main course.”

“Probably the latter,” Cas muttered distractedly. He went back to tracing patterns in a steel barrel, Dean had spent hours watching him ream. Cas snapped it into the gun, and then snapped it back out again.

“Pamela is still bitching about taking off, though I think Jess is getting pretty bent on staying around. Think when my dad gets back he's gonna have to do another marriage parley. A Winchester and a Moore! He'll be all over that!”

“Your father: do you know where he went?”

“I dunno. Bobby claims he wanted to scare up Rev. Jim. I'm thinking he might be talking to Missouri again. Lord knows we could use the advice, but she's always so freaking vague.”

“Pamela is a quite powerful psychic.”

“She is?”

Cas nodded, staring intently at the part he was working on. 

“Maybe I should consult her?”

“Maybe you should.”

Dean stared at Cas for a while. “I think you should go back to swords.”

“What? Why?”

“I like to see you work with your shirt off.”

Cas quite suddenly straightened up and stared at Dean. He paused, and then placed a marker in his book and carefully closed it. He strolled over to Dean, wriggled up into his lap, and kissed him.

“Now that is more like it,” sighed Dean. “Hey, wait, where are you going?” Cas had started to squirm out of his lap. Cas shrugged, and they kissed again, Dean now gripping his hair and pulling his head back for a better angle. Dean's hands strayed to Cas's shirt buttons. “Does this door lock?”

“Dean. You want to have sex … here?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

“Really?”

Dean pulled back a fraction. “Do you know how many dreams I've had about bending you over that forge?”

Cas appeared to run through this in his head. He turned to cast a puzzled look at the forge. Dean put his hands on Cas's head and gently turned it back. “I can show you. Does the door lock?”

Cas hopped up, and this time Dean didn't stop him. He went to the door and outstretched both arms towards it, palm facing out. He uttered some words, and the door clicked. “That's one of my strongest locking spells,” he explained. But then Dean caught him and kissed him, hands straying everywhere. He ran his hands down the back of Cas's thighs and tugged upwards, pulling Cas's legs around his waist. And then he backed him over so his ass was resting on the big metal anvil in the center of the room.

“This might prove … uncomfortable,” Cas told Dean, who was busy freeing Cas from his shirt.

Dean leaned over to whisper in his ear. “From now on, every time you go pounding on this anvil, I want you to remember me pounding you.”

Cas's eyes grew two sizes bigger.

In the end, as they were both willing but neither was an acrobat, they spent much of the time on the floor beside the anvil. But neither minded too much. To Dean's surprise, the words “Oh god I love you,” fell from his own lips as he climaxed. He worried for a moment as he gently lowered Cas's ankles from up over his shoulders and they both lay down together, but then decided that probably he had actually meant it.

Cas didn't reply, but simply snuggled into Dean's chest with a deep sigh. And then, oddly enough, he reached over and grabbed his book, flipping pages to where he'd laid the bookmark.

“Cas?”

“I had an idea for the etchings!”

“What?”

“On the barrel. But some will be on the stock I think.”

“That's what you were thinking about when we were … doing what we were just doing?”

Cas rolled back towards him, hair sticking up everywhere, pupils still wide as dinner plates. Dean pulled him nearer to kiss him, because it obviously had to be done. “I'm supposed to think about sex when I'm working now. So I'm also thinking about working during sex, correct?”

“Cas, you know you are really, _really_ weird.”

Cas grabbed his underwear and pulled them on. “I want to make this gun for you, Dean. You're beautiful, and it will be beautiful too!” He tugged on his pants as well, and then, seeming to lose interest in clothing, grabbed the book and sat down, cross-legged, suddenly rapt at attention.

“Well. Okay.” Dean reluctantly rose as well and started getting dressed. He found what he ached to do was just grab Cas, book and all, and haul him back to their room, but he was somehow reluctant to interrupt whatever was going on.

“This room – does it feel different to you?” 

Dean finished buttoning his shirt and considered the question. “Uh, different how?”

“I should have seen this before! The sigils: I can employ magic.”

“You can?”

But Cas had already scooped up the book and laid out the gun. It was all snapped together now. Still barefoot and shirtless, he stood before the anvil and held his hands over it. 

“Cas, is that a good idea?” Dean wondered. 

Like a man suddenly possessed, Cas spoke quietly and quickly, words in a strangely accented language. The gun fizzled and sparked as if it had just been hit with an electrical current, and then bright white-hot lines of current arced out from Cas’s fingertips. Cas seemed enveloped by an unearthly glow, his hair standing on end, his eyes wide and distant.

And then it was over, nothing left but the faint smell of ozone. Dean hurried over, Cas standing there, holding up the gun like it was a precious thing. He tilted it, and the light caught it.

“Holy shit,” said Dean, tracing out a careful finger over the surface. “God damn, that really is beautiful.” The entire piece was now dappled with hair-thin obscure markings. The effect was a little like tiny metallic scales. “I don’t understand. I didn’t think you could magick steel after it’s set.”

“It’s for you, Dean,” said Cas, as if that explained anything. 

Dean shook his head and traced a hand along Cas’s back. “Thank you.” He stood in back of him, wrapping his hands around his waist, kissing his neck. “Just, enough for the night, okay? Let’s get back to the room.”

“Don’t you want to try firing it?”

Dean thought about it a moment, but Cas was already loading a bullet in the chamber. “Uh. Do you think we wanna do this outside?”

“Stand back,” said Cas, who had lined up a shot towards the thick exterior wall. 

“Uh, this is magical, so you’re not sure what it’s gonna do, right?”

“It’s going to shoot, Dean.” Cas squinted down the firing line. And pulled the trigger.

The outer wall cracked as the bullet went through. 

“Cas!” shouted Dean.

Suddenly the room sizzled as the fire in the forge suddenly flared up, red and orange. Cas stepped back, gasping, throwing up an arm to protect his face from the great heat.

And just as quickly as it had flared, the fire died back.

Dean had his arms wrapped protectively around Cas. “You OK?”

“I…. I think I’m all right. I think I may have enchanted the gun more than I realized.”

“Cas. From now on, we test the magical gun outside.”

Cas nodded, and they headed out, back to Dean's room, and safety.

 

“You guys don’t have anything here. Anything! I swear, how do you even do spells?”

Bobby was leading Pamela around the Red Fort, although he highly suspected his own superfluousness in the matter. Despite the opaque cataracts covering her eyes this one always seemed to know exactly where she was. She even had opinions regarding Winchester brother was the most attractive. “We got ya everything on your list, why the bellyaching?”

“This doesn’t seem like a Podunk operation. There’s stuff you want at your fingertips.”

“The head honcho ain’t much on magic.”

“John Winchester?”

“Dean Winchester. The honcho who’s actually around.” 

“Oh. So why is he involved with a bladesmith? Those guys do magic, or so I've heard.”

“I don't know. Kids these days, they do what they want.” 

Pamela smirked and pushed her dark glasses up on her nose as Bobby opened the door for her. 

“Hey, Pamela, we think we got everything for you,” Sam said nervously, pointing to a table stacked with odds and ends, and dominated by a large, shallow bowl. He was there with Jess, along with Dean and Castiel. Dean was leaning against the wall, checking his watch.

“You brought too many good-looking men,” said Pamela with a grin, tapping a flustered Sam on his cheek. “Might be distracting.” She stopped in front of Castiel. “You. You're not gonna be the monkey wrench, are you?”

“I'm sorry?” Cas turned a confused glance at Dean.

“Why would he mess you up?” Dean asked her. “And … _how_ would he mess you up?”

“He's got power leaking out his ears, and you ask this? Huh. But that's right, you don't believe in mumbo jumbo, do you?”

Dean checked his pocket watch again. “You said you'd show us what you'd seen. Can we get on with it?”

There followed an interlude of Pamela barking orders regarding arranging candles and various herbs to her satisfaction. And then she told them, “Get around the table. I'm gonna need everybody to join hands so I can make use of your energy.” just put Dean in an even worse mood. He sat between Pamela and Castiel, enjoying the feeling of taking Cas's callused hand in his own. He ran a thumb over Cas's palm. “No funny business, you two,” Pamela scolded, thoroughly confused Cas. 

Pamela closed her sightless eyes and spoke some soft words. Dean looked around nervously as the candles – the room's only illumination – slowly dimmed.

A light bloomed in the middle of the wide serving dish. The water rippled and then, to Dean's amazement, it bubbled up to create a strange, transparent structure that looked awfully like….

“The Red Fort!” said Sam. “It’s us!”

“Shh! Concentrate,” Pamela scolded. 

Sam looked abashed. Dean smiled at his brother, glad that for once he wasn’t the one in trouble. 

“I want to see what he’s up to,” Pamela ordered. “Show me Lucifer.” She shut her eyes and concentrated. 

The air in the room was electric. Then Dean swore he felt a whoosh of air. The candles sputtered, and the watery image of the Red Fort spun out of view. The effect was disorienting at first, until Dean realized he was getting a bird’s eye view of the surrounding territories. 

“That’s the wrong direction. That’s not where the Onyx Fort is located!”

“Shhh!” hushed Jess.

Dean saw it in the “distance.” It looked like steam was rising. “That’s smoke,” Bobby whispered, and Pamela didn’t chide him for it. 

The image pulled into the center of the table. Some people around the table let out gasps. Dean pressed forward to see what they were looking at. It was the Emerald Fort. Or at least, it had been. Part of the wall had literally crumbled, and there was a great pit in the ground nearby. 

“But that’s not possible.” It was Jess speaking.

Pamela turned to face her cousin. “Of course it’s possible. This is the truth.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Bobby muttered.

“All right guys, I’m getting tired” Pamela told them. “Is there anything else?”

“Lawrence!” said Cas. Dean looked at him and nodded. “I want to see my home.”

Pamela sighed. “I’m not sure if I have the energy. I’ll try. Everybody, fucking concentrate now.”

Dean tightened his grip on Cas’s hand and actually made an effort. The view retreated again, and now swept to the coastline and off, gliding up the Narrow Sea towards the North. Dean glimpsed something along the coastline: it looked like a shipwreck. He wanted to ask Pamela to stop, but Cas looked worried, so he shut up and watched the sea go by. It was strange, he could have sworn he smelled salt spray, though it was probably his imagination. 

And then they had reached a rocky coastline, waves chopping onshore, a Northern town perched above. Dean watched in fascination. He hadn’t seen so many buildings all in one place before. And it was so chaotic! It was like someone had dropped a box of blocks on the ground and just arranged the neighborhood like that.

“That’s my smithy,” said Cas, as they hovered over a small, neat building at the edge of town. “My home is out of town, up along the coast.”

“I know, don’t get pushy.” The effort seemed to be wearing on Pamela now. Dean could feel the sweat on her palm. The view shifted up the coast. Cas was leaning forward, as if he could see ahead. Dean smiled. Cas’s house was along a pleasant, wooded trail. He imagined Cas and his brothers walking along the cliffs near the seaside.

And then they came to a spot where the trees thinned. Cas gasped. Dean strained to look at the watery image. Yes, there was a foundation there. There had been a house.

Cas’s chair made a terrific crash as it fell to the floor, and Dean felt his hand tear away. The circle broken, the water splashed back into the bowl and Pamela took a breath. She sunk down, head in her hands. “Fuck,” she muttered.

Dean spun around.

“No,” whispered Cas. And then he fled the room.

“Wait! Cas!” Dean took off after him. He looked up and down the corridor, but then made a guess and ran up a staircase. He found Cas on the roof, crumpled in the corner, eyes red-rimmed.

“My brothers,” he told Dean.

“Cas. Your brothers are okay. All right. Listen to me. It’s just the house….”

“They destroyed everything!”

“Look, we don’t even know if that hoodoo bullshit is accurate. They showed the Emerald Fort destroyed. No way that’s gonna happen. Not in a million years.”

“What if it’s true? What if Samandriel and Inias.... What if they're dead?”

“Then they would have killed you along with them!”

“It should have been me instead.”

“Cas! No! You’re not gonna do this! We’ve got Benny looking for them. He’s gonna keep looking.”

“How? The _Lovely Andrea_ is wrecked.”

Dean paused. So Cas had seen it too? “You’re going to keep up hope. All right? Remember they all thought Sam was dead, right? We had a funeral and a coffin and someone playing the fucking cello!”

“That was Kevin. You should know him.”

“Yeah, I know him. Kevin playing the fucking cello.” He wrapped his arms around Cas, hoping for another miracle.

 

“Come on, Cas,” Jo urged. “Jess has been teaching me.”

Cas looked up dubiously at the animal. “Don’t they make horses in … a smaller size?”

Jess, who was already mounted, looked at Jo and smiled. “You’re from the North, Cas, but you don’t ride?”

“I haven’t had the occasion. I’ve ridden in a horse cart.”

“It’s a great way to get around!” said Jess. “Really superior to cars in a lot of ways. You should ask Pamela.”

“I’ve found Pamela to be rather … opinionated,” Cas told them. 

“She rides. And she can’t even see,” said Jess.

Cas sighed deeply. He had sword-making to oversee, and he needed to mold more bullets for his revolver prototype. But Dean had practically ordered him to go along on this outing. Cas suspected Dean was trying to cheer him up, since he had admittedly been in a dismal mood since Pamela had shown them her vision of Lawrence. Although, as Dean said, there wasn’t really much he could do for his brothers, he was still worried sick about them. 

“I’ve heard there’s a crawly-bug hidey hole around here, so we’ll go look,” said Jo.

Cas was pulled out of his reverie. “Your intent is to approach where the Enemy has been sighted?”

Jess reined in her horse, had gotten impatient. “They don’t go after horses the way they’re attracted to engines. We’ll be fine. I’ve done it hundreds of times.”

Cas shook his head, decided he had might as well surrender to these two madwomen and the probability of certain death at the hands of the Enemy. Then when he didn’t come back…. Well, Dean would be sorry then!

“No, not that side, this side,” Jo told him as he gripped the saddle.

“Why?”

Jo huffed. “Because that’s the way you do it.”

“Horses can tell left from right?”

“They’re not stupid like certain people!”

Cas let Jo help him get situated up on the saddle while Jess watched, an expression of dry amusement on her face. And then they were off, Jess up ahead, Jo riding beside him and giving a constant patter of advice and gossip. “Sammy said he saw rubies! I wouldn’t mind finding some of those. No, sit up straight. Yeah, like that. Oh, I was reading one of your sword books and saw this amazing stiletto! Heels down! And relax your knees, you don’t wanna have him in a death grip.”

“There is something I don’t understand,” said Cas.

“Like, _everything_ about riding?” Jo asked him.

“The Enemy are supposed to be hoarders. But there are no ruby mines in the vicinity. Where are they finding their troves?”

“Hey, that’s a good question!” said Jess, who held back to ride side by side with Cas. “I’ve been poking around the holes for a good long time, and I’ve found some pretty strange stuff. Like something called zirconium.”

“What the heck is zirconium?” Jo asked. “It sounds like a flower.”

“It looks like a diamond. I thought I had struck it rich, until I took it to a gemologist. But I’m not sure why the heck it was gathering it.”

“Do you ever find manufactured goods in the stash? Like coins? Or blades? Anything like that?”

Jess pulled a strand of blond hair out of her eyes and looked thoughtful. “You know, I don’t think I have.”

“You wanna find a treasure trove of swords?” Jo asked him.

“What are you thinking, Cas?” asked Jess.

Jo pointed excitedly. “Hey, what’s that up there?” She spurred her horse and charged ahead.

“Jo! Be careful, dammit!” Casting an apologetic glance at Cas, Jess took off after Jo.

“What is that?” Cas asked himself, holding onto the mane as his horse too suddenly bolted. And then, “Wait, who is that? I recognize him!”

 

“What the hell happened, Creevy?” Bobby asked.

“What is it with you picking up naked men in the desert?” asked Pamela.

“This one wasn't naked,” Jess pointed out. “And we had Cas with us.”

“I wasn't naked!” said Sam as Cas looked, confused, towards Jess.

“I wanna know what he was doing wandering around in the desert!” said Dean.

“All right, all right!” said the Doc, ashes flicking down from his cigarette as he waved his hands. “This man is my patient right now, and I need you all to go and fuck off.” 

The party in question, Creevy, who was sitting on an exam table wrapped in a tattered blanket, tilted his dirty head and mumbled something.

“What was that?” asked Dean, who stopped as the others began to file out of the room.

“It's all gone. All of it. It's all gone. The Emerald Fort.”

“Hate to say I told you so,” Pamela cracked as Bobby led her away.

Dean glared at Creevy, and then departed as well. Sam and Cas were both in the corridor, waiting for him. 

“Dean, you have any idea where Dad's gone to this time?”

“Am I supposed to keep track of him now?”

Sam glanced uncertainly at Cas, who was looking especially miserable. “If Pamela's vision was true...” he started. “I mean, sorry, Cas....”

“You don't need to apologize to me, Sam. I knew there wasn't much hope for my brothers.”

“Cas, they're still out there, dammit,” Dean insisted. “And, yeah, Sam, I know, we gotta send scouts out to see the other forts. If the Emerald Fort is really gone, then who the hell knows who's left.”

“Dean!” shouted Kevin. He was running down the corridor, breathless.

“Oh, great, it's Mr. Bad News. Don't you have dishes to wash?”

“I'd rather be on lookout than dealing with Crowley,” Kevin puffed. “There's people coming.”

“What people?” asked Dean.

“Armed?” asked Sam, as he and Dean exchanged a worried look as they followed Kevin, racing towards one of the lookout towers up on the roof.

“If they're an army, they're the most ragtag group of motherfuckers I've ever seen,” Victor yelled down from the tower. 

“Are they coming from one of the other forts?”

“They're coming from the coast, looks like.”

“What the fuck?” Dean muttered to Sam. “No roads out that way, or I'd get the car and go myself.”

“You want, I could ride out with Jess,” Sam offered.

Dean looked his brother up and down skeptically. “Will Jess be okay?”

“Jess will be fine! It's me you need to worry about.”

“She is a very accomplished rider, Dean,” Cas assured him.

“Go,” said Dean, just as Victor, who had been climbing down the ladder from the watch tower, reached the bottom. 

“What are you still doing here, kid?” Victor asked Kevin.

“You asked me to hang out here!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Go back to the kitchen,” Dean told him. “And put everybody on alert.”

“Alert for what?”

“They're either gonna be preparing a welcome banquet, or using all those new knives for something else.”

 

As it happened, the group of people straggling along towards the Red Fort was not an army. At least they didn't consider themselves as such.

“Benny!” yelled Dean as he embraced the big vampire, pounding on his back. “What the hell are you doing so far from the water?”

“You might ask me what the blazes I'm doin' in the sun,” Benny huffed, peeking out from under his improvised keffiyeh. “This weather ain't exactly conducive to my naturally fair complexion.”

Dean looked back at the many figures trailing behind. “We'll get you some shade. We'll get all of you inside. What the hell happened?”

“We were waylaid. Along with your new shipment of steel. Goddamn pirates!”

“Then Pamela's vision was correct again,” said Cas, who was glumly standing beside Dean.

“Cas! I didn't see you standing there, friend! I brought some individuals who would like to see you. Come on over here!” Without waiting for a reply, Benny grabbed Cas's arm and dragged him back to see a party of three people walking together. There were two tall people, man and woman, and a child.

The tall man tore off his scarf to reveal a dark-haired teenager. “Castiel!”

Cas stared in disbelief, and then rushed forward to cup the young man's cheek. “Inias! I thought you were lost.”

“It's a long story.”

Cas peered into his brother's eyes. “I've been so worried....”

Inias looked as if he was going to say something, and then changed his mind. “Alfie! Say hi!” he urged.

Cas fell to his knees before the child. “Alfie?” he asked. Inias helped the boy peel back the outer layers of his scarf. “Sammy!” he cried, recognizing his little brother.

The boy glared at him and stubbornly crossed his arms. “Alfie,” he stated.

Cas looked up at Inias in confusion. Inias hunkered down beside his brother. “Metatron. He sent us to another town to live under assumed names. I guess Sammy got used to his, since he'll only answer to Alfie now.”

“Alfie?” said Cas. 

“You left us,” said Samandriel flatly, glaring at Cas.

“No! No, you know I would never do that!”

“Of course we know,” Inias told Cas. “Benny told us the story. He said you came against your will.” The brothers shared an uneasy look. 

“I should have looked for you.”

“It's all right. We understand.”

“Inias, it's true,” said Dean, who had been hovering nearby. He held out his hands. “We had him kidnapped.”

“Oh,” said Inias. He straightened up, now flashing his eyes at Dean. “It was you?”

Dean smiled. “Yeah. Maybe it was a dick move-” But whatever he was going to say next was lost when Inias leapt over and socked him in the jaw. Dean stumbled back, lost his balance, and fell to his knees.

“Inias!” shouted Cas, pulling his brother back. Inias stood, breathing hard and clenching his fist.

“You're all right,” Benny told Dean, hauling him to his feet.

“Inias! Apologize,” demanded Cas. “Now!”

“No.” Dean rubbed his jaw. “I probably deserved that.” 

“Lookit,” said Samandriel eagerly, pulling something from his pocket. 

“Gah! Get back,” shouted Dean when he saw Samandriel pull out a little golden scorpion. “Those things are poisonous.”

“It's all right,” Cas told him. “Samandriel – I mean _Alfie_ – has a way with bugs.” Dean watched in fascination as Cas's small brother reverently petted the little scorpion, and then it obediently hopped back into its matchbox.

“Well, I see some things haven't changed,” said Cas, putting a hand through Alfie's sandy hair. Alfie irritably flinched back from him, and Cas looked sad.

“Some things have changed,” said the female member of the group.

“Go ahead and reveal yourself, darlin',” said Benny, who was wearing a grin.

Cas took a step back, hand on his sword hilt. “Naomi,” he whispered as she pulled off her head scarf.

“It's all right!” Inias told him. “She's with us now.”

Naomi had balled her hands into fists. “I want. To kill. Metatron,” she stated.

Cas looked at Inias. He nodded. “Yes. We will do that.”


	10. Chapter 10

Benny sucked down the gooey red drink. “Man, that's outstanding,” he told Kevin, who had just served him. Kevin cringed and edged back half a step. Benny grinned wide, showing an array of sharp, pointed teeth. “Though I must say,” he said thoughtfully, “that jugular vein you got there does look a mite tasty.” Kevin emitted a very small shriek.

“Kevin, it's all right, he's joking,” Dean assured him. “You're joking, right, Benny?”

“Guess maybe I am,” Benny admitted. Kevin, who did not look reassured in the least, skittered over to the doorway to hover as the vampire emitted a belly laugh. Benny turned back to the table where he sat with Naomi, Sam and Dean, and Cas and his brothers, although young Alfie looked far more intrigued by his scorpion than the meal. 

“Alfie, you need to put that away and eat now,” Inias urged him. “So you won't be hungry later.”

“I want hot dogs.”

“They may not have hot dogs here,” Inias told him.

“And Jasper needs his lunch,” Alfie protested, indicating his arachnid.

“What does it eat?” Dean asked. “We can ask for something from the kitchen.”

“I think it's supposed to eat insects, but it seems to be okay with small pieces of meat,” Inias told him.

Dean turned to Kevin. “Since you want to get out of here, go grab some scorpion chow.” And Kevin was gone.

“Thank you, Dean,” said Inias. Like Cas, his entire face lit up when he smiled.

“Oh, there are more of them!” exclaimed Pamela as Jess led her in. She walked straight up to a very confused Inias and put a hand to his face. “Mm-hm. Good genetics in this family.”

“But, you're blind,” said Inias.

“Yeah, thanks for the tip, hotshot. No fucking wonder I keep bumping into walls. Jess, why didn't you tell me?”

“Uh, sorry. I didn't mean to offend you,” Inias told her.

“She isn't offended,” Cas assured him. “She is utilizing sarcasm.”

“My cousin is a seer,” Jess explained. “She doesn't need eyes to see.”

“Your eyes can fool you,” said Pamela.

“She is a witch?” asked Naomi, who was standing up. “I can't break bread with such a person!”

Cas was on his feet as well. “Do not insult Pamela in my presence.”

“Okay okay okay,” said Dean, who was now also standing. “Can we not kill each other? Or bite? Or sting? We're gonna sit here, and we're gonna be nice, and we're gonna go through what the fuck is happening up North. Benny?”

Benny smiled and swept a hand between Cas and Naomi. “I dunno, brother, these two in a death match? Might be entertaining. I told you how he beheaded a fella. One stroke!” He mimed slashing with a sword.

“All right,” said Dean. “No swords, and no beheading. Benny, you wanna talk, start talking.”

Benny settled back down and crossed his hands over his stomach. The rest of them, some reluctantly, took their seats as well. “I had heard rumors of Northern types coming to beset folks like myself: folks who are just trying to make a dishonest living.” 

“The pirates who attacked us,” said Cas.

“Yep, most likely. Despite this, we kept on making our runs. Our last foray up North, trying to get some more raw materials for you all. During this time, we encountered a group of refugees, including your brothers, Cas. As their story moved me, against my piratical nature, I took pity upon them, and brought them along.”

“You wanted a hostage,” griped Naomi, her eyes dark.

“Well. Maybe a little of that, too, now you mention it.” He tipped his cap at Naomi. “Not that it did me a damn bit of good. We got away, by the skin of my pointy teeth. And made sure they didn't get my ship as a prize!”

“You sunk the Lovely Andrea?” asked Sam.

“She's on the bottom of the Narrow Sea,” Benny told him. He was quiet for a time. Dean reached over and patted his back. “We'll sail again. We'll build her anew. I just need some timber.”

“Oh, yeah, we got a shitload of timber here,” said Dean.

“I'll build her of red rock this time.”

“We could fashion a ship of metal,” said Cas, who was getting a dreamy look in his eye.

Benny turned around to smile at Cas. “The trick, boy, is not to start out on the bottom of the sea.”

“No! There were iron ships before the flood. I've seen them!” He glanced at Dean. “I mean, I've seen pictures.”

Benny smiled a jagged smile. “Well, you get on that then. We'll get back to sea, one way or the other.”

“Meanwhile, we need to find space for your people,” said Dean.

“I have space,” announced Crowley, who had just arrived along with Kevin. “We cull a few and stuff them in a pie.” Kevin nervously approached Alfie and placed a plate with meat scraps before him. Alfie grabbed a knife and cut off tiny pieces of meat.

“Crowley, we're not gonna eat our guests,” Dean told him. 

“We'll need to do something to feed all these inevitably hungry bellies, as well as ravenous undead.”

“Undead? I prefer to refer to myself as a blood-sucking sea farer,” said Benny.

“I am pulling my hair out, beloved leader,” Crowley told Dean. “First you put that reprehensible woman in my kitchen....”

“Ellen's run a kitchen for more years than I've been alive,” Dean told him. 

“...and now you expect me to be a guardian for that mutant offspring of a kraken and a sowbug. It's tearing up my garden!”

“Is this just the day for everybody to bitch?” sighed Dean.

“Sowbug?” asked Alfie, who had looked up from feeding Jasper.

“You have a captive … sowbug?” asked Inias.

“Long story,” Dean told them. “We picked up one of the Enemy.”

“Wait. You have a creepy crawly? Here?” asked Benny.

Dean grinned. “Just a little one. It's Sammy's.”

“It's a long story,” Sam told Benny.

“What is wrong with you people?” fumed Naomi. “Now you're harboring the Enemy here?”

“Hey, we're harboring you here,” Dean snapped. “And by the way, Crowley is looking for volunteers for Enemy chow.”

“He's found out how to use them. Don't you understand?” asked Naomi. “That's the plan. He has books: all the books. And knows old magic.” 

“We know. He used magic on Cas,” said Dean, putting a protective on the bladesmith’s shoulder.

“He killed the rest of the town council back in Lawrence. I saw him! They didn't have time to raise a hand.”

“She’s telling the truth,” said Inias, who still shuddered at the memory.

“Why did he spare you?” Dean asked Naomi.

“I don't know. I honestly don't know. He said he wanted someone around to tell the story. He's insane. And he's figured out old magic with the Enemy.”

“He's not using magic,” said Pamela. “Not with the Enemy.” Her voice was soft, as if she were very far away.

“How would you know, witch?” snapped Naomi.

“I know.”

Sam got up and went to crouch down beside Pamela. He held one of her hands in his. “What you showed us the other day … the Emerald Fort. That was the Enemy.”

“Yes.”

“But it wasn't magic?”

Pamela's white eyes turned to Sam, her expression, imploring. “I don't feel well.” Sam caught her as she sagged. 

“Pamela!” shouted Jess, who was at her cousin's side. 

“I can sense him. Metatron…” whispered Pamela.

“We're gonna get her to her room,” Sam told Dean. He watched as Sam and Jess helped Pamela out of the room, noticing that Bobby, who was looking quite concerned, hurried along after them. 

Dean turned to Cas. “Bring your brothers. I got an idea.”

 

“We keep it out here,” Kevin explained. “Me and Jo have been watching it.”

“Jo is helping out?” asked Dean, a smile tracing his features.

“She says she'd rather be out here than hanging around with her mom in the kitchen,” Kevin whispered. They entered a small, stone-paved courtyard. Jo was sitting up on a low wall. The small creature that had tunneled into the kitchen was huddled in a corner, in the shade, and appeared to be ripping something apart with its beak.

“I think it's building a nest,” said Jo. She hopped down from the wall and approached Dean and the others. “Hey, Cas,” she said, though her eyes strayed to Inias. 

“These are Cas's brothers,” Kevin told her.

“Yeah, I see the resemblance,” she said, sticking her hands deep in her pockets and continuing to gaze at Inias, who shyly smiled back.

“This is Inias,” said Cas. “And, um, this one is Alfie.” He put an affectionate hand in his littlest brother's hair. Alfie, for his part, seemed mesmerized by the Enemy.

“Are you a bladesmith too, Inias?” Jo asked.

Inias puffed with pride. “I was working as an apprentice in my brother's shop. I hope to go on helping him.” He flushed. “Um. If you'd like me to, Castiel?”

Cas beamed at him. “Of course I want you at my side.”

“I wouldn't mind learning too,” Jo said.

Dean guffawed. “You? Working at a smithy?”

Jo glowered at Dean. “Why the hell not?” 

“Jo is a little old to start an apprenticeship, but she is smart and knowledgeable,” Cas told Dean.

“See? I'm knowledgeable!” said Jo.

Dean rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Jo. You'd work at it for three days and get bored.”

“I would not.”

“Dean's right,” said Kevin. “It's a dumb idea.”

Jo rounded on him. “Oh, so I should aspire to work as a dishwasher?”

“I’m not a dishwasher. I’m a musician!”

“Alfie!” said Inias, who hurried over to the corner, where, while the adults and teens argued, the youngest De Angelus had gone to huddle with the creature. It had wrapped a thin tentilum around his small arm.

“Samandriel,” said Cas, who was now over there as well.

“She's Cecelia,” said Alfie. “And she likes the shade.”

 

“Your brother is a bug whisperer, Cas!”

Dean sat down on the bed next to Cas, who was slumped there, head in hands. “I abandoned my brothers, Dean.”

“But now they're here! You guys are all right.”

Cas turned on Dean. “I should have looked for them, Dean. Samandriel won't even look at me any more.”

“He'll get over it. Believe me! I've got a brother, too, remember?” Dean scooted over and tried to put an arm around Cas's shoulders. 

Cas jerked away. “Dean. Goddammit. You kidnapped me and brought me here, and instead of doing my duty to my family, I got caught up in things, and I fell in love with you, and I don't know if I can put things right.”

Dean stared at him. “Awesome!”

“What?”

Dean pushed closer again. “You're in love with me. That's pretty cool.”

“Dean,” Cas despaired. “Did you hear anything else I said?”

“No, not really. No.” Dean leaned in for the kiss. After a brief moment of token resistance, Cas kissed back. 

“You are really impossible, you know?” said Cas as Dean still held his face in one hand.

“I know, I know.”

There was a pounding on the door. “Not now Sammy!” Dean shouted.

“How the hell did you know it was me?” came Sam's voice from the other side.

“I know your knock. And your rotten timing.”

“You gotta get out here, Dean. Now!”

“What the hell is it now? Is Lucifer knocking?”

“No. It's worse!”

 

“You remember the Reverend Jim, don't you, Dean?” said John, presenting a smiling grey-haired man.

“Yes. Hey, Rev. Jim,” said Dean dutifully.

And this is Dean's friend, Castiel De Angelus,” said John.

“Oh, so you're Cas!” said Rev. Jim. “I've heard so much about you.”

“You have?” asked a very confused Cas.

“Your family makes swords?” asked Rev. Jim.

“Yes.”

“All right. Enough!” said Dean, stepping between them and pulling a flustered Castiel out of Jim's reach. 

“Dean,” said John. “You need to make arrangements! I understand your brother has found someone.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “And how the hell do you know that?” demanded Dean. “I heard you split after he disappeared!”

“Your daddy knows because I told him,” said a dark-skinned woman who had been viewing the whole scene with a knowing expression.

“Missouri,” grumbled Dean.

Missouri strode forward and grabbed Cas by the chin. “He is a nice looking boy. A little scrawny. Haven't they been feeding you, honey?”

“I worked in the kitchen, in actuality,” Cas told her.

“You still have that scoundrel Crowley cooking here? Let me make a dish or two for you, fatten you up. You need to grow up to that voice.”

“I wouldn't go into Crowley's kitchen just now,” laughed Sam. “He's grumpy enough stepping around Ellen.”

“Ellen Harvelle?” asked John. “Is she here?”

“I thought you knew everything,” Dean told his father.

“I know everything, doll,” said Missouri. “I just tell your Daddy what he needs to know.”

“You should have told me about Ellen,” said John. 

“Uh, Dad,” said Sam as Jess came into the room, leading Pamela. “This is Jess.”

“What the hell is she doing here?” spat Pamela, pointing across the room.

“What the hell is who doing here?” asked Dean.

“She means me,” said Missouri, narrowing her eyes. “Hello again, Pammy.”

“Don't call me that, you old fraud!”

“Hmpf.”

“I will not stay under the same roof with this quack!” raved Pamela.

“I have more psychic power in one fingernail than you do in your whole body, sugar,” Missouri retorted.

“Wait, how do you even know each other?” Sam asked, looking back and forth between the two feuding psychics.

“Every time I try to scry, there she is, nosing into my business!” sniffed Pamela.

“Who’s nosy, honey?” scoffed Missouri.

Victor poked his head into the room. “Boss, can I interrupt?”

“Please!” said Dean. He accompanied Victor out of the room, Sam following them. “We can't find the bug's – I mean _Cecelia's_ – mother.”

Dean huffed in frustration. “You went back to where you and Sam saw her before?” Victor nodded. “Shit, I can't believe I'm calling one of those things a ‘she.’”

“No. Ash and I have been staking it out, but no luck, no sign of her.”

Dean stood and thought. “What if we go back to where Jess found Sam?”

“That's a long way,” said Sam. “And how the heck do we transport, er, Cecelia?”

“Well, she got here somehow! Look, I personally volunteer to go.”

“Can I personally volunteer to accompany you?” sighed Sam.

Dean nodded and started to walk off. “Sam, do you have any idea what the hell is between Missouri and Pamela?”

“I dunno. What's up between Rufus and Bobby?” Sam shrugged. “I imagine I'll get an earful tonight.”

 

Dean found Cas and Inias working in the forge. He stood for a while and watched the brothers, both pictures of intensity, their heads close together, examining a sword. Inias was applying a spell to a newly forged blade, so Dean kept his peace at the door to let the young man give it a try. He grinned as the room began to crackle with magical electricity, and then there was the bright light as the magic burned into the newly forged steel.

Cas picked up the blade with tongs and, as he quenched it, whispered something to his brother, who positively glowed with pride. It was pretty clear to Dean that despite their long separation, Inias worshipped Castiel. Cas pulled the new blade from the oil bath, and turned to Dean.

“Hope I’m not interrupting!” Dean told them.

“Inias was just trying his hand at a finishing spell.”

“Oh. Is he any good?” asked Dean playfully.

“He will be outdoing me very soon.”

Inias flushed red. It was pretty cute. “Oh, no. I’ll never surpass you, Castiel.”

Dean grinned. “I remember when my little brother would talk like that. It’s been a while. A long while.”

“Can I take a break now, Castiel? Jo is teaching me to ride horses!”

“Better you than me,” said Cas. And with a nod, Inias was out the door. 

Dean watched him go. “You’ve got him working for you now?” 

“Yes, he is assisting me.”

“You want to keep him on as an apprentice?”

Cas turned his head to stare at Dean. “Am I allowed to do that? I know that the fort is getting crowded.”

“Of course! He’s family. He and Alfie can stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“And you’re staying around too, right?”

Cas thought about it for an uncomfortably long time. Finally he said, “My brothers were the first thing on my mind, of course. And now that I have them near, I am much relieved. Even though they are somewhat … estranged.”

“No, Cas, you guys are not estranged! You haven’t seen each other for a while, and they’re young, so it’s probably uncomfortable right now. But look, you’re all together now, going on an outing together, you’ll get to spend time together….”

“Should I point out that Alfie is tending to his pet crawlie-bug, and Inias seems much more interested in Ellen’s daughter?”

“Dude, that’s how little brothers behave. It’s what they’re supposed to do. They’re being kids.”

“You think so?”

“Sam was just like them. Well, maybe not the whole having scorpions as a pet thing. But he’ll go off and do his own thing, and you don’t think he even remembers he has a big brother here. And then he’ll scrape a knee, or get into a fight with the girlfriend, and there he is again.”

“Sam still comes to you?”

Dean waggled his head. “Not as much as he used to. But yeah, he knows I’m there for him. It’s always been that way. Dad’s just not around much. I used to wonder about it, but I guess I’ve come to the conclusion he’s just not the type.” Dean frowned, growing thoughtful.

Cas paused before he spoke, steeling himself. “Dean, I feel an obligation to return home. To reclaim my inheritance.”

“Yeah, we could do that.”

Cas’s head went into its confused tilt. “We?”

“Sure! After we get Benny situated with a new ship, we’ll get across the Narrow Sea and grab your business from whoever the hell Metatron gave it to.”

“You intend to accompany me?”

“Should be fun! I’ve never been to the North.”

“Don’t you have obligations here?”

“I do. But look, we’ve gone away to Alexandria, and nothing disastrous happened, right? My dad’s here, and so is Bobby. And Sam is getting old enough too.”

“And what will you do in Lawrence, Dean? That is, when I am conducting my business?”

A smile crept onto Dean's lips. “Huh. I guess I’ll try and stay out of trouble.”

Cas sat back, a pensive look on his face. “Perhaps….”

“What?”

“Perhaps I should set up Inias and Samandriel to run the business. And … I could come back here?”

“That would work!” said Dean. “So, you know we’re gonna take off for a couple days?”

“Yes, to find the Sapphire Fort. Inias has already asked if he can accompany you. I’ve told him that he has my approval.”

Dean looked at the floor. “Aren't you coming along too?”

“My place is here, preparing our armaments.”

“You could take a day off. I could order you to take a day off.”

“Dean-“

“Yeah, I know. I know. We’ve both got obligations.”

“I’ll be here when you get back.”

Dean stepped forward, grabbing Cas’s belt and pulling him close. “You’re here now.”

Cas smiled. He reached over and laid down his tongs, and then draped his arms over Dean’s shoulders. “You are impossible, you know.”

“I know. I know.”

 

They placed Cecilia on an old trailer and Dean drove the truck it was hitched to. Kevin road shotgun, and the various “bug tenders,” Jo, Inias and Alfie, rode in the back with the Cecilia. Sam drove Jess and Pamela in the Impala up ahead. It was admittedly unusual for both Sam and Dean to be absent from the Red Fort at the same time, but Dean decided it was warranted as their father was still in residence, though there was no telling how long he would linger. Dean found himself half hoping John would be gone by the time they returned.

Kevin looked out the back window for the tenth time that hour, leading Dean to comment. “I think she’s all right back there.”

Kevin nervously glanced back once again, viewing the big crawlie-bug now draped under an old blanket. “Oh! Yeah, I think it’s fine.”

“You weren’t looking at our guest,” Dean noted. He glanced up into the rear view mirror, tilting it around for a good look. Alfie had fallen asleep next to the bug, resting on the blanket and snoring contentedly. It was like a kid and his dog. If the dog had been the size of a baby rhino. With tentacles.

On the opposite side, Jo sat beside Inias. They were chatting about something, and sitting a just a little bit too close.

Dean grinned. “Cas’s little brother is making friends fast.”

Kevin looked flushed. “Is that … appropriate?”

“It’s normal behavior. Believe me.”

Kevin looked dubious.

“You sweet on Jo?” Dean teased.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“I’ll tell you a secret. When she was a kid, she had a little crush on me.”

“You?” asked Kevin. Dean nodded. “Ew!”

Dean threw his head back and laughed.

“I mean,” Kevin backpedaled. “You’re like a million years old.”

“Thanks,” said Dean. “But look, let me tell you about Jo. She’s always known what she likes. And she’s not afraid of how it looks, or if anybody else approves or disapproves.”

“She likes knives. And guys who make them.”

“I just bet there are girls who like guys who play cello!”

Kevin stared at Dean. “What? Way the fuck out here?”

“Hey, check out Pam backseat driving.” They both looked up ahead, where Pamela was leaning over the back seat, pointing up ahead. She, Sam and Jess appeared to all be chattering.

“What do you think is going on?”

“Haha. Sam is trying to tell her there isn’t a road in the direction she’s pointing. I bet she wins the argument anyway.”

 

Castiel stood up on the roof and watched until Dean’s vehicle disappeared over the horizon, now, too late, regretting he did not relent to Dean’s continued blandishments and go along with them. It left a small empty place in his heart, being separated from his brothers so soon after finding them again. And, needless to say, Dean’s outrageously large bed seemed empty without Dean’s presence. He wondered, not for the first time, how he had gotten so attached so quickly. For so long his whole world had revolved around his little family. And now it seemed his family had grown by leaps and bounds.

“Hey, dude, you wanna play cards?”

Cas broke into a smile as Ash and Victor approached. “It’s very good to see you recovered, Ash.”

“Hey, nothing can keep me down,” said Ash with a big grin. 

“We got a good game going,” Victor told him. “Benny is trying to win enough money to build a new ship.”

“I suppose I will be contributing heavily to the fund,” sighed Cas, as Victor slapped him on the back and led him down the stairs. 

 

“I don't believe this.” Dean had spent the afternoon just wandering around the remains of the Sapphire Fort. They had taken a couple of wrong turns, but they had finally arrived an hour ago. Unlike Dean’s family home, the Red Fort, had been carved out of a mountain, this place had been erected smack in the middle of the desolate plains, each stone painstakingly dragged or magicked from a quarry far away. Even with the main wall shattered and broken it remained impressive, a fallen giant, larger even than the great Onyx Fort.

“This was supposed to be another fairy tale. Like a bug's hoard.”

“I found the bug's hoard,” said Sam, with a smile.

“What do you think happened?” asked Dean. “Was it an earthquake?”

Sam pointed, and Dean squinted across the desert. A part of the wall and the structure behind had crumbled. It looked as if it had been hit by a giant hammer. “If you look closely you can just see the remains of the crater.”

Dean stared at the territory surrounding the ruins. “So, you think it was the Enemy?”

“Yeah. It looks like it's the same as what happened to the Emerald Fort. At least in Pam's scrying. I’ve tried searching the records for it before. This must have happened generations before we arrived on the scene. It was abandoned over time, and nobody ever kept very good records. I guess when Jess and Pam's family was the only one remaining here, they laid down a bunch of misdirection spells to keep people away. But Pamela says she had to disable most of them for them to bring me back. That's the only way we found our way here.” 

Sam wandered over towards the most damaged part of the facility, and Dean followed him. “If this is near a tunnel entrance, it could be that the creature undermined the foundation by mistake.”

“You mean when it was tunneling around?” asked Dean. “So basically this place was built too close to a bug highway.”

Sam ducked inside one of the rooms. Dean shrugged and went in after him. After all, he was curious as well. “Oh, shit!” he said as his eyes adjusted. “I see why they abandoned it!”

Sam was looking around as well. As things didn’t tend to rust out here, the metal components, though damaged, were still recognizable. “Was this the generator?”

“Bingo. The main generator. I didn’t pick up on it from outside. The Red Fort has an old generator room like this.”

“An old generator room? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. It was redesigned, centuries ago. See? You can tell how the venting is going out the side of the wall here?” Dean approached a stretch of wall that was still mostly intact and stuck a hand in one of the slits cut there. “There’s an old wives tale – one I think is true – that the Enemy is attracted to the fumes. That’s why you only run cars on highways. So, for the generators, we vent everything upwards now.”

“Dean. The generator at Ellen and Jo’s outpost: is it possible that’s why it was attacked?”

“No, no way. That’s a smart idea, but Ellen had it all set up right. And that wasn’t even the part of the building they hit.”

“Then I wonder what happened?”

“I guess we’re all wondering that. One thing I know, Lucifer helped it along.”

 

“We’re gonna look around!” Jo announced, tugging on Inias’s hand. Pamela had said she was going to do something called a scrying, and it sounded interesting, but Inias thought it might be nice to go along with Jo. He hadn’t expected to like the South too much, but it was kind of exciting here. First there had been pirates – actual vampire pirates – and then he’d found his big brother again, and then there were real live monsters here! 

And then there was Jo, who liked to talk about swords, and made him feel sort of fluttery in his stomach. She kept hold of his hand as they walked out. “Stay in sight of the building!” Jess yelled after them. So now they were going to walk around an abandoned fort. 

“Scrying is boring,” grumbled Kevin, who always seemed to tag along, and always seemed to be in a bad mood. Life wasn’t quite perfect. 

“Pam wants to talk to Bobby,” said Jo, as if this held some deep significance.

“Ew, gross,” said Kevin. “He’s like a million years old.”

“Why shouldn’t she want to talk to him?” Inias asked.

“He’s so old,” explained Kevin.

“He’s a good guy,” Jo shot back.

“He’s too old for her.”

“Should she date you instead?” Jo giggled. 

Oh. It finally made sense. Inias stopped before a broken place in the wall. “I wonder what this is?” he said, almost to himself.

“It doesn’t look like they use this part anymore,” said Jo.

Inias nodded and slipped inside.

“Hey, I don’t think we’re supposed to go in this part,” Kevin scolded.

“They said to keep in sight of the building!” said Jo, who then darted inside. Kevin, despite his objections, sighed and went after them.

“It’s pretty dark,” said Kevin. Inias spotted some dried branches on the floor. He twisted them together, and then, taking out a lighter, lit the top to create an improvised torch. Jo grinned, and, when Inias reached back his hand to her, she took it. He found he liked the feeling of her small hand in his. He smiled and led the way, Kevin a small dark cloud taking up the back.

They came to a very large room that looked mostly still intact. Inias’s heart raced when he saw the anvil. “Oh! Do you know what this is?”

“A big, scary room?” asked Kevin.

“This is the smithy! And it’s mostly intact.” He was moving around the room now, checking out the forge. 

“You think you could still use it?” Jo asked.

“We’d have to make sure everything was ventilated. Get some lighting in here. But, yeah!”

Kevin sighed. “You come out here and you wanna make swords? Isn’t that your _job_?”

Inias stopped and studied his grumpy friend. He tilted his head. “We could look for the main kitchen.”

“I hate the fucking kitchen!”

Inias looked at Jo, who rolled her eyes. “You could come work with us, in the forge?”

“I need to be careful with my fingers.” Kevin held up his hands, wiggling his digits. “I’m a musician.”

“I guess I don’t understand. What does music do?”

“What do you mean what does it do? It’s beautiful!”

Inias shrugged. “We should get back. We need to tell Dean about this, so he can tell my brother.”

Kevin shook his head, turned, and started to make his way back out, cursing as he barked his shin on a piece of broken wall.

“After my brother finishes training me, I can run a shop of my own,” Inias told Jo quietly.

“I could help,” Jo told him.

“Yeah, you’d be great!”

 

One thing Cas had learned in his time at the Red Fort, it was fruitless to draw to an inside straight.

He sat down his cards and sighed, having already contributed, he thought, more than his share to Benny’s ship building fund.

“I think I’ll go down to the kitchen for something to eat,” said Cas. “Can I bring you anything?”

“I can’t believe Crowley likes you,” laughed Victor.

“That rascal don’t like nobody,” said Benny, who was gloating, though not too badly, over his winnings. “If’n he has some type B negative, I wouldn’t object.”

“He doesn’t have human blood, Benny,” laughed Ash.

“And how do you know?” asked Benny.

“Cas worked down there! Cas knows better!”

“Benny, would B positive be acceptable?” Cas asked, completely straight-faced.

“Maybe a little AB positive?” said Benny.

“I will check.”

Ash stared, open-mouthed, as Cas left the room, struggling to hide his smile. “You guys are shining us!” he heard Ash demand of Benny.

Cas made his way downstairs to his old stomping grounds, the kitchen complex. It was between meal services, so it was relatively empty. After greeting people he knew, Cas grabbed a tray and began to fill it up with bread and cheese and sausages.

“Come to steal more of my staff?” barked Crowley.

Cas nodded to his old boss. “Chef. You didn’t object when I sent you that new cutlery.”

“True, I will always forgive you for your knife fixation. Which, by the way, I find ridiculously attractive. If you should ever dump that Winchester boy….”

“Not likely.”

Crowley leaned closer. “So, what word about Lucifer’s whereabouts?”

“You know as much as I do.”

“Likely I know more. I used to work for that miscreant.”

“There’s no new movement. I wonder if he has given up?”

“No,” said Crowley. “Believe me. I know the man all too well. Lucifer will never give up. Not ‘til he’s got what he wants.”

 

“Aiiii!” Dean had literally jumped when he felt the tentacles curl around his leg. He turned around to see Cecelia the crawly-bug looking up at him. 

“I think they don't see very well,” said Sam, who had just arrived with the others. “They spend a lot of time in the dark. That's why she likes to touch you.”

“I … don't like it,” said Dean, who nevertheless squatted down and reached out a hand, like you would to a dog. Her sensitive front feelers glided over his arm and up to his face. Then she poked his side, and Dean emitted a strangled gasp and fell on his butt.

While the creature hovered over him, wiggling tentacles, Sam rushed over to help him up. “Did she sting you?”

“Ticklish,” sputtered Dean. “No, I'm all right,” he told Cecelia as the rest of the crowd giggled. 

“If you’re through clowning around, I think we're ready to head out,” said Sam.

“Are we all going?” Dean asked.

“I'm staying here,” said Pamela. “I've been trying to set up contact with Bobby. And it hasn't been working. Maybe when it's quiet.”

“Bobby, huh?” said Dean, wagging an eyebrow at Sam.

“Hey, I saw that,” Pamela told him.

“Saw what?”

Pamela shook her head and let Jess lead her back into the building while Cecilia and her young keepers turned and began to walk out in to the desert. 

Dean hung back a moment. He looked over at Sam. “Last time we tried this, didn't end too well, I guess.” Sam sighed.

They walked for what seemed like hours in the bright sun. Dean checked his watch and realized it was only half an hour. He was unfamiliar with this territory, and that put him on edge. 

“This is it,” Sam finally said. “This is where Jess found me.” Cecilia appeared to be getting excited, although Dean wasn't really certain. She was skittering around in circles, kind of like a dog would do. If you had a dog with twenty legs and tentacles that is. And then she dashed away.

“Alfie! Wait!”

Dean turned to see Sam running off after Cas’s little brother, who had in turn set off after Cecilia when she suddenly bolted. “Everybody, stay put!” Dean yelled. 

As Dean ran after Sam and Alfie, he noticed Jo had thrown protective arms out blocking both Inias and Kevin from going forward. Maybe Kevin has a chance after all, he thought. 

He crested a dune in time to see Sam tackle Alfie to prevent him from disappearing down a hole in the middle of a small rock formation. “Cecilia!” screamed Alfie, who was clawing at Sam's arm. “She's my friend!” he protested.

There was a distant rumble.

“Get up. Up on those rocks. Now!” shouted Dean, who was already climbing.

“But we wanna talk to the mommy!” protested Alfie.

“Yeah. From the outside this time. Sam!”

Sam had hefted Alfie over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and ran frantically towards the formation. There were already little hillocks forming in the sand at the bottom of the depression. Dean grabbed Alfie and pulled him up, and then held out a hand to Sam and dragged him up as well. Sam clambered to the top, and caught Alfie in a hug. But the boy seemed to have quit struggling, and was now gazing in awe at the boiling ground below.

The ground started to vibrate. “Fuck, it's a big one,” said Dean. “Everybody! Down!”

 

The insomnia had come upon Bobby Singer in his sixth decade of life. If he had been the philosophical type, he was not, he would have regarded it as perhaps karmic penance for a youth spent as someone who could fall asleep atop a mountain of rocks while a smith hammered nearby. 

At three am, more or less, every night, and then continuing until the crack of dawn, his restless mind would awaken.

After a month or so of tossing and turning, Bobby, being the practical sort, had given up fighting the early morning restlessness, and instead used it as an opportunity for an early morning patrol of the grounds. It was a good time to catch lookouts on swing shift who had nodded off. It was actually a pleasant experience: Bobby loved kicking the snoozing bastards in the shin and seeing them fall all over themselves. Served them right for tossing back too many glasses of wine at dinner.

He thought he had found one, up on the north section of the roof. He trod carefully, so his boots wouldn't squeak and give away the game. This one seemed awfully still, actually.

Bobby crept closer and gave the guy's shoulder a good shake.

There was soft thud as he fell over.

“Soldier?” said Bobby softly.

He knelt down beside the man, and rolled him over. That's when he saw the bloody gash where the guy's neck had been slashed ear to ear.

“Balls.”

Fast as his aching legs could carry him he hurried down the stairs and then back up to the position of the next nearest sentry. He found the man slumped over, again with a gash to his throat.

He leaned over to examine the wound, touching a finger to the man’s neck. On the edges of the wound the skin was red and burnt, a sure sign of a blade that had been magicked.

Bobby’s mind reeled. He pushed down his regret over fallen comrades: time enough for that later. Somebody had penetrated their defenses with magic-powered weaponry. There might not be time to sound an alert. And they were present overstocked with civilians, but short-handed on troops. Especially with the Winchester brothers off on some bug hunt, he didn’t reckon they had the manpower for a full on battle right now.

Pushing down the panic rising in his belly, Bobby hurried back down into the building and towards John Winchester’s room. After a quick scan up and down the corridor, he knocked softly, and entered when he heard the muffled response from the other side of the door.

Bobby entered the darkened room. “John? We got a problem.”

“Yes. You do.”

Stars burst in Bobby’s field of vision, and he slumped to the floor as the world went black.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean regarded his brother, and then averted his eyes. He gazed instead at the behemoth in their midst: a crawly-bug had ended up partially surfacing, huge carapace now shining in the sun. According to Alfie’s “conversations” with Cecilia, the bugs were sensitive to the harsh sunlight, and so preferred to spend their time underground. Even now, small appendages along the side were constantly dipping into the sand and sending it up over the back, the way a rhino will sun-proof its hide. Not that Dean had ever actually seen a rhino.

Even partially hidden, this thing was the monstrously huge. And now his brother, along with a very excited Alfie, were sitting down inside the space demarcated by the long feeding tentacles, near the thing’s huge beak.

Cecilia was there too, Alfie occasionally putting out a hand to pat her back the way you would a dog. Sam was sitting cross-legged in front of the creature, one of its thin tentillum wrapped around his left arm. He would sit for a while, as if in a trance, and then rouse and shout up his communications to the spectators.

“What should I ask now?” he yelled.

“What should we call them?” Inias shouted back. Dean squinted up at Cas’s equally weird little brother. “Well,” he whispered to Dean, “I don’t think they’d like to be called the Enemy.” 

Dean nodded. The kid had a point. “Yeah, go ahead and ask.” 

Sam went silent for a moment, and Dean got to think once again about what a ridiculously stupid thing he was doing. 

“They call themselves The People!” Sam shouted up.

“Wait. How are they The People? They’re bugs!”

Sam, down below, shrugged. “And she is called Minerva.”

“That’s a good name,” said Kevin, who was sitting beside Dean. “That’s a goddess.”

“Does she know anything about the attack on the outpost?” Jo shouted down. 

There was another pause. “Someone has been kidnapping their young!” Sam shouted up, glaring at Dean. 

“Hey, it wasn’t me,” said Dean.

“The mother was going in to rescue it. She wasn’t aware that she was disrupting anything. Her child was there. And he was wounded.”

“Hey,” Dean shouted down. “When you found Cecilia, Sammy, she was hurt. Did men do that to her?”

Cecilia, as if she sensed what Dean was saying, suddenly huddled in next to Sam, nearly knocked him over. He patted her back and righted himself. 

“Cecilia is just a baby, I guess, so Minerva can’t tell exactly what happened, but she thinks some men hurt her, she got away, and then I helped her.”

“My brother,” muttered Dean. “Friend to bugs.” He thought for a moment. “Oh, right! Ask them about the engines. Are they really attracted to them?”

Sam nodded and then was silent for a very long time that time. “Thought it was just a yes/no question,” yelled Dean.

“It’s interesting!” Sam finally related after he woke up and they had what seemed like a three hour conversation.

“What? Wanna share with the rest of the class?”

“This is fantastic, Dean.”

“What is?”

“They utilize some of the effluent compounds from the emissions as substrates to creating new compounds. Dean! They’re alchemists. The precious metals and stones in their tunnels? Those are excretions.”

“They eat fumes and shit diamonds?” asked Dean.

“Exactly!”

“Holy shit.”

Sam was in a trance again. And then he took off his sidearm and presented it to Minerva. Many tentacles reached out and tentatively touched the sword.

“Dean! They can make us steel! Damascus steel! The kind Cas uses.”

“Swear to god,” Dean whispered, “My brother is the only guy in the world who wouldn’t put in an order for some gold bar.”

 

“So,” said Lucifer. “Tell me about Alexandria.” He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands into a steeple.

Castiel spat blood. “Bite me.”

Lucifer had left Naomi sit where she was, her now sightless eyes boring into Cas. The knife was still in her stomach. There was blood everywhere. “Could you at least close her eyes?” Cas whispered.

Lucifer tutted. “Alastair?” he asked. Alastair repositioned his brass knuckles and, as Uriel and Abaddon watched, walloped Cas.

Lucifer got up from his chair. “Castiel,” he said, sing-song voice, pacing up and down. “We’ve all been hiding out in the desert for weeks now, and we’re all a little tired and cranky. So why don’t you make it easy for all of us and answer my fucking questions.” And with that, he crouched down and grabbed Cas’s bloody collar and yanked his head off the ground.

“As I said, bite me, Lucy.”

Lucifer let Cas fall back to the floor.

“And get out of my fucking home,” Cas growled.

Alastair, unbidden, gave Cas a kick in the side. He moaned, and turned over, clutching his ribs.

The door opened and Virgil popped his head in. “We got Crowley.”

“And the Winchesters?”

“The sons are both said to be offsite. And we can't seem to locate John Winchester.”

“Neither can Dean,” muttered Cas. 

Lucifer walked over and leaned his butt on Dean’s desk. “You have really been getting on my nerves, Castiel, I tell you. Who do I have to blow to get a decent bladesmith?” He grabbed a knife from Naomi's dead body and examined it, flashing it in the light. “Decent work, very decent work. Is this one of yours?” he asked Cas, who merely glared. “Well, we’ll see how sharp it is. Virgil?”

“Yeah boss?”

“Bring her in.” Virgil’s face formed a grin, and he darted back out the door. 

“Who?” said Cas, wiping his mouth with a sleeve. He had scooted up to a sitting position. Lucifer nodded to Alastair, who grabbed Cas and thrust him into a chair. 

“All right,” said Lucifer, running his thumb over the knife. “Ten fingers.” He leaned over in front of Cas and wiggled his fingers. “But how many, I ask you, do you really need?”

Virgil returned, dragging Ellen with him. Her eyes widened when she spotted Naomi's corpse, but she said nothing. Virgil pulled her over to the desk and slapped her hand down on it. 

“No!” Cas started to say. Alastair punched him in the gut.

Lucifer flashed the knife and sauntered over. “Let’s play a game. Ten questions, ten fingers. Let’s see how many you can answer.”

“Lucifer,” said Uriel.

“Oh, what is it now, Uriel?”

Uriel’s eyes darted from Cas to Ellen. “Perhaps … there is another way.”

“Uriel,” said Lucifer, going over and wrapping an arm around Uriel’s broad shoulders. “You know, Ellen over there, she should be grateful.”

“Uh. Why is that, my Liege?”

“Because, she shouldn’t be alive at all.”

Uriel looked nervous, but didn’t speak.

Lucifer leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Somebody … squealed!”

Uriel shook his head, but Lucifer nodded enthusiastically. 

“Isn’t that true Ellen?” asked Lucifer. Ellen remained silent, but she looked terrified. “Someone tipped you off, so you weren’t there when the outpost was destroyed? Someone from my inner circle.”

“That’s not possible,” said Uriel, trying to squirm out of Lucifer’s grasp.

“Oh, but it is, isn’t it?” said Lucifer, jabbing the knife under Uriel’s chin. “So Ellen should be grateful. She has ten fingers. And, she’s alive. Unlike some of us.” And then he jabbed the knife up into Uriel’s throat. The big man gasped, and then collapsed to his knees, choking on blood. He looked up, once, at Lucifer, and then toppled over.

“Mmm,” said Lucifer. “This is a good blade.”

Just then, two of his men stormed in. “Lucifer! We've located John Winchester.”

Lucifer tossed the bloody knife onto the desk. “This will have to wait. Stick that one someplace safe,” he added, pointing to Cas, “and come with me.”

 

“Damascus steel, Dean! Think about it!”

Dean smiled at Sam as they all walked back to the Sapphire Fort. “I was thinking about diamonds, but I’ll give you that.”

“And Inias says the forge here is basically intact. Now that the generator is working, we could set up the fort to work once again.”

“Those guys are kind of obsessed,” Jo whispered to Kevin, who only rolled his eyes.

“I think you need to check that with your girlfriend,” Dean told him.

As if on cue, Jess ran outside, breathless. “Dean! Sam! Come quick!”

“What’s going on?” asked Dean. But Jess had already run back inside. Sam took off running after her, so Dean ran as well, doing the best he could in the unstable sand.

They found Pamela in the middle of scrying. She was sitting at a small table. Her head was tilted back, and she was sweating heavily with the effort.

She turned and said softly, “You’ve been attacked!”

Dean ran up to the table and noticed that there was now a translucent image of Benny on the scrying dish. He was tinged blood-red. His lips moved, and Pamela spoke in a strange, low voice, “Is that Dean there?”

“Yeah, I’m here now.” Dean pulled up a chair, and then grabbed one of Pamela’s hands. Sam and Jess sat down and joined hands as well, forming a circle. Pamela relaxed slightly. “Talk to me.”

“It was the middle of the night. We were up, because that’s our time of day, but most everyone had gone to bed. The sentries were replaced by some new folks.” 

“Lucifer’s men,” said Dean.

“That’d be my supposition. No fucking idea how they did it.”

“They're using magic,” said Sam.

“I just grabbed who I could and got the hell out. We got the doc, your reverend. And we found your dad’s psychic buddy, Missouri, so she’s helping me with the scrying. But we couldn’t find your dad.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a terrified glance. “And Cas?”

“Not him neither.”

Dean breathed hard.

“But there’s one more thing. And it’s weird. A couple of the folks coming out with us, they swore they saw Lucy’s men bringing in something big, in a crate. They said it looked like they’d carted up Crowley’s pet, that crawly-bug?”

“Cecilia?” asked Dean. “No, she’s here with us.”

Benny’s image raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, Cecilia. Well, if it wasn’t her, then why the hell would they grab another one?”

Dean looked at Sam, who mouthed a curse. “Benny. They’re going to try to destroy the Red Fort.”

“How the bloody heck they gonna do that?

“It’s a long story.” Benny’s image started to waver. Dean looked across the table: Pamela was trembling. “Benny. I think our psychic is getting tired. You stay put there, stay far away from the Red Fort! We'll send some people out to find you and bring you back here.”

“You still on a bug hunt?”

“Yeah. We'll tell you about that later. Sit tight.”

“I hear ya, boss,” said Benny. And then his image dissolved, and Pamela slumped.

“Are you all right?” Jess asked Pamela.

“I was trying to contact Bobby,” said Pamela. She was now speaking with her own voice, but it was rough. “I couldn't get him. But then Benny popped up!”

“My mom is still there,” came Jo's quiet voice from across the room. Inias reached over to touch her shoulder and, to his astonishment, she gripped him in a hug. 

“Ellen is gonna be OK,” Dean told Jo. “And so is our dad. And Cas. So is everybody.” He turned back to the table, staring into the water in the bowl. It was clear water. “Why was he all red?”

“He was using blood.”

“Oh,” said Dean, who decided not to wonder whose blood. “Sam. I got an idea. You up for talking to your new friend again anytime soon?”

Sam nodded, but looked curious.

 

“You can go in here and think about Alexandria.”

Alastair gave Cas a push and he ended up sprawled on the forge's floor. “We'll be back,” laughed Virgil. They locked the big door behind them.

Cas scrambled to his feet and limped back over to the door. He checked the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. They had probably thrown some magic up against it. Given enough time, Cas could have probably figured it out and beat it, but Lucifer had made it clear he wasn’t to be given much time. 

He huddled against the door, clutching at his bruised ribs. He thanked God that Inias and Samandriel were safe for now. But it was clear that Lucifer was not going to stop this madness. 

Cas painfully pushed himself up to a standing position, looking around for anything he could use as a weapon. The area was a shambles. Worse, it appeared that Lucifer's men had completely denuded his workshop of anything even resembling a blade, even the unfinished ones. He limped over towards the anvil, where to his surprise they had left scattered parts for his magical revolver. He quickly snapped them all together and regarded the gun. But what about bullets? He had only ever made seven, and one was already embedded in the wall. He made his way over to his workbench. All the drawers had been overturned, and parts were scattered everywhere. He squatted on the ground, feeling through the detritus for a bullet.

“False alarm,” came Virgil's muffled voice from down the hall.

“Let's have some fun with the bladesmith,” came Alastair's voice.

Cas held his breath.

 

In the end, Kevin probably volunteered because Inias volunteered.

It was not until later that he remembered how much he hated confined spaces.

“We patched up the wall in the kitchen,” Dean told them, “but I think we did a crap job of it.” 

“You think?” said Kevin. “You know, I'm a musician, not a mason. And I'm sure as fuck not a spelunker!”

“Are you ready, Kevin?” asked Inias. He was always so damned calm.

“Let's get this over with.”

And Cecilia had run around and around, like the weird bug-dog she was. Kevin was glad at least they didn't have tails to wag, because that would just be too weird. So the boys both lowered themselves into the tunnel the small crawly-bug had excavated back when she's followed Sam to the Red Fort. According to her mother, the bug named Minerva, it was probably still intact, as Cecilia was old enough to excrete a sort of fixing agent to solidify the walls.

“We're walking on bug spit,” said Kevin, as they alit on the floor. It was actually bigger than he had imagined: tall enough to walk in, if you crouched down, though Inias had to crouch a lot further down, he noted with some satisfaction. But it wasn’t anything near straight, with a lot of corners and switchbacks. Cecilia may have been trying to evade rocks. Or maybe she was just crazy.

“You puzzle me,” said Inias.

“Oh, God. Are we gonna have to talk?”

“It seems as though we should be friends. And yet you always seem to greet me with hostility.”

“Yeah, so not fair, just because you're tall and good-looking and always get the girl....”

“This is about Jo?”

“No. Of course not. Jo is like … a sister. A really cute sister. Oh, fuck. Yes, it's about Jo.”

Inias ducked under an outcropping. “I don't have a lot of experience. With girls, I mean.”

“Well, you will.”

“Do you think she likes me?”

“Holy hell, Inias. Of course she likes you! Why do you think I hate your lousy ass.”

Even in the darkness, Kevin could see Inias's smug-ass expression. “That's nice.”

Kevin looked up at Inias. “That she likes you, or I despise you?”

“That she likes me.”

“Yeah.”

“But you? You'll come around.” And then Inias flashed the world's most annoying smile.

 

Crowley sighed and rattled the chain around his ankle. He could stand being confined down here by that wanker, Lucifer. And he could endure the beatings and the catcalls. But he really despised seeing his kitchen fall to ruin like this. Those idiots had no standards of cleanliness. They just thundered down here, made a mess, and then made another mess atop that mess. 

He had managed to liberate a butter knife from the detritus, and was feebly attempting to pick the lock on his chain. When the scraping sound behind him first began, he thought for a moment he was hearing things. Probably brain damage from being clobbered one too many times. But then it persisted, and then the dust from the masonry began to fall. 

He huffed. “You're going to have to go a lot faster if you want to get through some time this decade.”

“Crowley?” came a muffled but somehow familiar voice.

“Kevin?” _What the hell?_ “Get a move on. This is an order.”

“Fuck. We come to rescue people, and Crowley is the first guy we meet?”

“I heard that!”

“We didn't want to make too much noise,” came another voice. “Are you alone?”

“No, I'm having a great party here, don't you hear the revelry?” groused Crowley.

“No.”

“He's being sarcastic,” said Kevin.

“Oh!”

“Castiel?” asked Crowley.

“No, I'm Inias!”

“Castiel Junior, then. Get a move on, boys!”

The scraping and pounding got a lot louder, and then, with a crash, Crowley was looking at two very dusty boys.

“Why are you here, Mr. Crowley?” asked Inias.

Crowley pointed to the iron bonds on his leg. “Because I've got a great bloody chain around my ankle.” 

Inias smiled and took a tool out of his belt. In a few seconds, he has sprung the lock and freed Crowley. “You're a good man to have around, Inias.”

“I helped too!” protested Kevin.

“All right then, boys, what is your plan? I take it you are not appointing yourselves my new dishwashers.”

Kevin ran a finger over a greasy countertop. “Ugh! It's a mess down here.”

“It is rather.”

“Our plan is to liberate as many people as possible through Cecilia's tunnel,” Inias explained. “Do you have any information about sentries Lucifer may have posted?”

“Well, if you're looking for troops to rescue, you're out of luck. Lucifer's got them killed or beaten or locked away. Now if you want sous-chefs, you're in luck.”

“Can they handle knives?” asked Inias.

Crowley grinned. “I like your way of thinking, boy. Lucifer's minions don't bother with my place unless it's meal time. That means you have an hour or so.”

 

“This goes here and that goes there and the other goes the other.”

“I'm glad you're sharin' the technical terms!” Benny yelled up to Dean. With the help of Benny's men, they had quickly cleared the debris from the Sapphire Fort’s old generator room. They had spent the hours since then trying to salvage or repair enough parts to patch the main engine together again. 

Dean, who was standing up on top of the main generator, laughed. “Just get her going so we can call your big friend.”

Jo was wiping his hands on a rag. “I think this baby is ready for testing.”

Dean scrambled down from his spot. “First time they've fired this up in centuries.”

“Should we all get maybe fifty feet away?” asked Jess, rubbing at a grease spot on her face.

“More like a couple miles away,” said Benny. “Boss, you sure about this?”

“There's a first time for everything!” said Dean, who counted himself lucky the stored gas cans hadn't either leaked or evaporated over time. They poured fuel into the tank and watched as the gauge rose. And then no one actually left the room when Dean pulled the switch. There was a terrible whine, and Dean thought it may have been better to give this place a wide berth like Jess suggested, only then the whine turned to a low, rhythmic rumble, and the thing started belching an acrid, brown smoke.

Jess consulted the dials. “Woo-hoo! You got yourself a generator, Dean.”

“Let's get Sam!” Dean was already sprinting outside, where Sam was leaning against the building. But his eyes were drawn to Minerva, the giant crawly-bug. She had surfaced completely, and now was approximately the size of a traveling circus. 

But that was not the impressive thing.

While Cecilia ran excitedly back and forth, Minerva had somehow reared up on her front-most legs, so the entire back one third of her body was completely lifted from the desert surface. Her back legs jerked and her tentacle-like front appendages writhed.

“What the hell is she doing? Having a fit?” asked Dean.

“Watch,” was all Sammy would say. The jerk.

Suddenly, Minerva slammed her entire tail section down on the desert floor, raising a huge cloud of dust, and nearly knocking Dean off his feet. “Holy shit,” said Dean. 

Minerva lifted her tail and brought it down again. The ground trembled.

And then again a third time.

“I think she cracked the foundation,” said Dean, putting a finger in his ear. “So, you gonna tell me what that was for?”

“It's a signal.”

“A signal for what? That the fort's gonna fall down?”

There was a distant rumbling. Dean whirled around to look at Minerva, but she was now standing silent. “That sounds like-” As if in answer, the ground began to pile up into a distinctive ring of mounds. “There's another-” 

To everyone's astonishment, another giant crawly-bug, even bigger than Minerva, broke the surface, it's great feeding tentacles extended. “That's Circe,” said Sam.

“Ah, good to meet you,” said Dean. 

There was another rumble, and more cracking, and yet a third, even bigger bug surfaced.

“And that's Iskander,” said Sam. “He's a bull.”

“So he is,” said Dean. “So he is.”

 

Alastair and Virgil came through the door to the forge, stopped, and both burst into laughter.

“Stay where you are,” said Cas, aiming the pistol at them.

“We're warded against guns. Duh,” said Virgil, who stepped into the forge.

“This gun is magicked,” said Cas, taking a step back. “I used a number of spells to forge it. And more magic assembling it.”

“No shit? Hey, Alastair, the kid made a magical gun.” Virgil edged forward.

“You know what we should do, Virgil? Let's grab it use it to beat the holy shit out of him,” said Alastair, who also drew closer.

“Thus, you are both wagering that your warding spells outweigh mine,” Cas told them. He was next to the hearth now, slowly backing up. He had stoked the fire in the hearth, and it made a low crackling sound.

“Why wouldn't our spells be more powerful?” asked Virgil, advancing towards Cas.

“You've seen my blades, haven't you?”

Virgil took a step forward, but Alastair stopped. “Don't be a pussy, Alastair,” Virgil chided. “He's just bluffing. He probably doesn't even have any fucking bullets.”

“I have bullets,” Cas told them, still edging backwards. “Would you like to see them? Up close?”

“I'll have a look when I'm cramming that gun up your ass, kid,” said Virgil.

“That will be difficult, with a hole in you.”

“Virgil. Be careful,” said Alastair. “This kid’s got a dangerous look to him.”

“Yes, stop right there, please,” said Cas, as Alastair came level with the hearth.

“Give me the fucking gun,” said Virgil, lunging forward.

Cas complied. He fired the pistol, hitting Virgil square in the chest, and sending magic arcing through the room. Virgil's back exploded and, as Cas dove for cover, the oven flared up, quick-frying a screaming Alastair. 

Warily, Cas got up. As Virgil lay bleeding and moaning on the floor, he gave Alastair’s corpse a push with his toe. Then he went back to comb through the contents of the drawer scattered over the floor.

“Why don't … you finish me?” Virgil moaned.

“Could only find one bullet,” grumbled Cas. “You people are very disrespectful of others's property!”

“Sorry,” sighed Virgil.

Cas uncovered one bullet, and then another. He loaded them in the gun, and then got up and, returning to Alastair's charred body, pulled off the henchman's sword.

“Are you just gonna … leave me?” Virgil asked. “To bleed to death?”

“That was the plan.”

“I have information!”

Cas paused at the doorway. “What kind of information?”

“This whole place – it’s coming down!”

Cas approached Virgil and squatted down beside him. “Is Lucifer going to cast the same spell here he’s been performing elsewhere?” 

“It’s not a spell, you idiot.”

“Yes, unfortunately, I’m pretty slow.”

“Metatron gave us the key. We grab the Enemy. The little ones. If you hurt them, the big ones will come and … boom!”

“So, you have an Enemy bug here now? Where?”

 

“Get out, quick! And be quiet!” Kevin scolded as, one by one, the kitchen personnel – sous-chefs and busboys and waiters and dishwashers and the like – all filtered out of their dormitories and made their ways down to the kitchen and Cecilia's tunnel to freedom. “Inias, is that everybody?”

“He wants to talk to you,” said Inias, who was leading a skinny teenager along.

“Garth! I'm really glad to see you, man!” said Kevin.

“Lucky me,” Garth told them. “I'd been working the forge, but I came down here to get a snack when the shit hit the fan.”

“Do you know anything about my brother?” asked Inias.

“Man. They took Cas off first thing. I heard Lucifer himself wanted him.”

Inias shuddered. Garth nodded and proceeded downstairs.

“Look, it'll be all right,” Kevin told Inias. “Lucy wants him to forge swords for him. He won't hurt him.”

“I- I should stay and look for him,” Inias told them.

“Inias, we were supposed to evacuate personnel and then get back to the Sapphire Fort!”

“You should get back. But I need to look for my brother.”

“Inias, don't be a dipshit!”

“I'm sorry, Kevin. I need to take a look.”

“Then I'll go with you.”

Inias blinked at Kevin. “You don't want to be … a dipshit.”

“Look, I know this place better than you,” Kevin told him. He was already stalking down the corridor. “The only way you're gonna avoid being spotted is if I'm with you.”

Inias smiled, and ran along behind Kevin, who signaled for silence, and then crept up a dark staircase. He poked his head out at the landing and looked up and down the corridor. Then he motioned for Inias to follow, and they high-tailed it down the corridor.

“Castiel! Is that you?”

“Oh, shit,” said Kevin.

 

“Ellen?”

Ellen put down the table leg she was holding and retreated back from the door to her room. “Cas! Damn, kid, you scared me.”

“Are you all right?”

Ellen grinned and flexed her fingers. “Ten fingers and ten toes. But you don't look so good, honey,” she added, coming to touch his face.

“You need to go. The fort is in danger.”

“I think that’s already passed.”

“No. I mean Lucifer is planning the same thing here that he did to your outpost, and the Emerald Fort. They have a wounded member of the Enemy somewhere here, and its kinsman is going to come after it.”

“And bring down the Red Fort with it?”

“Yes. Do you know where John Winchester might be? Virgil indicated that the Enemy captive had been taken to his quarters.”

“Good luck with that,” Ellen sighed. “No one has seen hide nor hair of John since we were invaded. I think Missouri must have worked one of her concealment charms on him. The old bastard.”

Castiel looked at Ellen curiously. “I didn't realize John was illegitimate.”

Ellen started to say something, but instead smiled and said, “Cas, honey, you never change, you hear?”

“I will try not to. You should attempt an escape.”

“No, you don't even go there. You're doin' something stupid, I'm there too.”

Cas frowned. “Do you have an idea where our soldiers might be confined?”

 

“I think this is a bad idea,” said Dean.

Sam grinned. “It's an awesome idea!”

“Hold still,” scolded Jess, who helping to smear Sam with some kind of clear goo. 

“According to Minerva, if we cover ourselves with their secretions, it should keep us safe from the stomach acid.”

“I don't believe another human being just said that to me,” Dean sighed as Jo helped him with the goo.

“That's what put holes in my clothes last time.”

“Hey I got someone wants to chat!” said Benny, who walked up with another man.

“What the bloody blazes is that stuff!” groused Crowley. He reached out and put a finger in the bucket Jo was using, and then, to everybody's disgust, put his finger in his mouth.

“Chef! It's bug sweat!” said Dean.

“It has an interesting bouquet,” said Crowley. He looked around at all the staring eyes. “It's quite common to ingest insects in many cultures!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Did we get your personnel out?”

“I can report all kitchen staff present and accounted for!” said Crowley proudly. “Like a good sea captain, I waited until they were all evacuated to make my escape from the Red Fort. I must remark, they are all eager to take out some revenge.”

“What about Inias and Kevin?” asked Sam.

“Unfortunately, they hadn't made it back by the prearranged time. Garth tells me Inias was going to look for his brother.”

“Damn!” said Dean. “I was worried that would happen. We've gotta find them!”

 

“No, not Castiel,” said Inias calmly as Kevin tried not to shake.

Brady grinned. “Not Castiel. But someone just as good.” He grabbed Inias by the collar and shoved him up against the wall, his knife at the boy’s throat. 

“Don't hurt him!” said Kevin.

“You wanna tell me what you're doing here?”

“We work in the kitchen,” said Kevin.

“Is that true? What do you do in the kitchen?”

“I wash dishes,” said Kevin.

Inias glared at Brady. “I sharpen knives.”

“You little shit!” said Brady, leaning in close. And then he gasped and slumped down. He collapsed in a pool of blood, a knife sticking out of his back.

“You two,” said John, who had just thrown the knife. “You need to get out of here. Pronto.”

“Mr. Winchester!” said Kevin. 

“I saw what you two were doing,” said John. “But I’ve probably wrecked Missouri’s concealment spells by tossing that knife.”

“Sam and Dean are coming,” said Inias. “And they’re planning something big! We need to get everyone out of here.”

“But we only got to the kitchen staff,” Kevin added.

John nodded. “I’ll get word to my men. You two should go.”

Kevin was already leaving, but Inias stood still. “I'm attempting to locate my brother, sir,” said Inias.

John smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “I'll take care of that. You have my word, son. I'm not gonna let anything happen to my future son-in-law. Now, you two get the hell back to that tunnel and get out.”

Inias tried to speak, but Kevin had already grabbed him by the arm and started to drag him back downstairs to the tunnel, and freedom.

 

There were three sentries posted outside the door.

This was a problem. 

“I only have two bullets,” Cas explained.

“You made a whole gun, but only two bullets?” whispered Ellen.

“I made seven bullets, but I've used two, and I couldn't find the others in the mess,” Cas grumbled defensively.

Ellen peeked around the corner again. “What are they doing now?” Cas leaned over to look as well. The one guy had lit a cigarette, and was now lighting up a smoke for his friend. The third guy, not to be left out, leaned over to catch a light as well.

“Three on a match: bad luck!” said Ellen, clucking her tongue. Cas looked curiously at her, while Ellen appeared to be thinking. “Tell me something, Cas. You told me when you fire that gun, you cause a sort of kick back in your furnace?”

Cas nodded.

The three sentries remained standing there, smoking and very, very bored.

“You guys wanna play cards or something?” asked the first sentry.

“Mm. Wouldn't want Lucifer to catch us goofing off,” said the second.

“We're not goofing off. Besides, it's not real exciting here right now.”

“Lucifer's got eyes everywhere. Or worse yet, Uriel will find us.”

“No chance of that,” said the third sentry.

“What?” asked the other two. The third sentry drew his finger across his throat. “One of the Winchester men?”

“I heard Lucifer did the job himself.

“He killed Uriel? Why?”

“Probably caught him playing cards,” said the second sentry smugly. It was the last thing he was ever to say, as an instant later, he was shot in the throat by a bullet from Castiel's gun. His buddies had little time to react, however, as both their cigarettes flared up and set their hair and clothes on fire. The first sentry unwisely set to screaming and flapping his arms, and was only stopped when he ran into Ellen's sword. The third sentry wisely dropped to the floor and rolled. He was stopped when he had mostly extinguished himself and found the tip of Castiel's sword – the one he'd lifted from Alastair – at his neck.

“Unlock the door. Now,” said Ellen.

 

“Awwww! Yuck!” yelled Dean as he, along with his brother, was unceremoniously spat out on the desert floor by the biggest crawly-bug anybody had ever seen.

Sam sighed and attempted to wipe some of the goo off his hands with a handkerchief. “Hey, he got us here.” He waved at the Red Fort, which loomed overhead.

“Sam, I'm bug vomit!” said Dean, looking up at the monstrous bug. He sighed. “You gonna talk to him.”

Sam nodded and held out an arm. The bug sent a thin tentillum along to wind around his wrist. Sam's eyes lost focus for a moment. “I'm telling him that, yeah, Lucifer is the guy who harmed the calves.”

“The calves? Oh, that’s what they call the little bugs?” asked Dean. 

Sam’s eyes snapped open. “Oh boy. The mother bug, Demeter, is on her way. Now!”

“No no no no!” said Dean, waving his arms at the bug. “We’ll get it out. We’re here to rescue it!”

“Her, not it. And I know. Iskander says he might not be able to stop her.”

“What, don’t tell me this Demeter is bigger?”

“No, but it’s her kid. I guess they go a little blinky when their young are in danger?”

“She can’t destroy the fort now! Our friends are still in there.”

“I'm trying to tell him, Dean.”

“Are you explaining?”

“Yeah, but, he's not as easy to talk to as Minerva. He's more … emotional.”

“What the hell?”

“I dunno. Maybe because he's male?”

Dean sighed, not disagreeing. “Tell him we need time.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t have any fucking idea. An hour?”

Sam was quiet for a very long time.

“What is it?” Dean finally asked.

“I’m having to explain to him what an hour is!”

“Geez.”

Sam was quiet for an annoying long period of time. “He will try to hold Demeter off for an hour. And it starts … now!”

Dean looked around. “What? Ah, shit.” He grabbed his sword, was also pretty sticky, and ran towards the Red Fort.


	12. Chapter 12

“All aboard!” hollered Benny. “The _S.S. Minerva_. This ship of the desert ain’t waiting on nobody.”

He stood just outside the ruins of the Sapphire fort amidst a splendid chaos of loading provisions and bodies. Hanging above him was a rope ladder which happened to be tied, somewhere up there, to the carapace of the giant crawly-bug. They had managed to fashion a sort of sling on top of both her and her sister, Circe, anchoring pieces of canvas to their hard outer shells. They had communicated their intentions through Samandriel, who fondly remembered the passage over aboard Benny’s real ship. 

“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” said Inias, who actually threw in a salute. Kevin and Jo crowded behind him. The boys were both still dusty from their journey back through the tunnel from the Red Fort.

“You kids sure about this?” asked Benny. “I don’t wanna get in no trouble with your brother, Inias.”

“I have a lot of experience with swords, sir,” said Inias. “And both Kevin and Jo are expert in using knives.”

Benny cast an eye up at his “army,” which consisted of the few members of his real crew who remained and a whole bunch of erstwhile sous-chefs and busboys armed with cleavers. “You keep to the back of the action, you hear? That’s a direct order. From your captain.”

The three teens nodded excitedly and clambered up the rope ladder. “Should call this the S.S. Kitchen Police,” Benny muttered.

“What’s that about my kitchen?” barked Crowley, who was approaching along with Jess and Pamela.

“We don’t have need of no cranky chefs,” Benny told him.

“I shall ready a victory feast for when you return, triumphant!” said Crowley, giving him a bow.

“I don’t feel good about letting you go alone, Jess,” said Pamela.

“I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll probably need to rescue my fiancé again.”

“Fiancé?” said Pamela.

“Fiancé?” said Benny. “Well, congratulations, young lady!”

“Oh, goody,” said Crowley. “I do love baking wedding cakes. Come along, love,” he told Pamela. “We must get started on the seating arrangements!”

Benny grinned and watched them walk off. He nodded to Jess, who scrambled up the rope ladder, and then climbed after her, pulling the rope up after him. “Helmsman!” he barked.

“Is that me?” asked Samandriel.

“Yeah, kid, that’s you.”

Samandriel was near the front of the canvas, lying on his belly, with one of Minerva’s thin tentilla wraped around a wrist. Cecelia, who they also hauled up on board, sat beside him, excitedly wriggling her tentacles. 

“All ahead, full speed, for the Red Fort!” said Benny, standing up and dramatically pointing his sword – the one Cas had forged for him – in the appropriate direction. Samandriel closed his eyes and communicated with Minerva, and suddenly, the crawly-bug was in motion.

And Benny was thrown from his feet. “Oops,” he said apologetically as Kevin and Inias caught him.

 

All of the soldiers of the Red Fort garrison – the ones left alive, that is – had been confined to one dormitory, so it was crowded inside the room. 

“We’re worried about Bobby,” said Victor, leading Cas and Ellen over to a cot where Bobby lay. He was pale, and his breathing was shallow.

“He’s been hit on the head,” said Ash, as the other soldiers gathered around. “I mean, he’ll be okay, he’s got a hard head.” Several folks laughed, but it was a nervous laughter. They were clearly uneasy with the well-loved commander injured like this.

Ellen sat down on the bed next to Bobby, a worried look on her face. “He’s probably got a concussion. We need to get him out of here. Has anyone seen Doc Cottle?”

“There were some folks that escaped,” said Victor. “Mostly civilians and Captain Lafitte’s people. The doc may have been with them.”

“Damn,” said Ellen, looking around at the many wounded men. Even Victor was clutching at his ribs, though he was trying to be subtle about it. 

“These men are not going to fight Lucifer’s contingent,” said Castiel. 

“We’re fine, Cas,” said Victor. 

“Yeah, we wanna kick their asses! Payback!” added Ash.

“It’s too dangerous,” said Cas. “I’ve just gotten word from one of his men that Lucifer has a plan to destroy the fort, with all of us inside.”

“How the hell would he do that?” But despite his brave words, Victor looked edgy.

“Dean and I noticed that the outpost had been damaged by one of the Enemy. We wondered why this had happened. One of Lucifer’s men told me how they’ve been doing it: they kidnap one of the young Enemy creatures and injure it. Somehow, this signals the parent to come and attempt a rescue.”

There was a stunned silence in the room. “And they’ll knock down an entire fort?” Victor finally asked.

“They destroyed the Emerald Fort that way.”

“But this is our home,” said Victor.

“I know. It’s mine too.”

Victor nodded to Cas. “Lucy’s always been a little crazy,” said Ash.

“Yeah, well he’s gone from a little to a whole lot,” grumbled Ellen. 

“He may be under the influence of some great magic,” said Cas.

“Or he could just be a giant asshole,” muttered Bobby. 

“Bobby!” said Ellen. 

No one had noticed Bobby rousing. He painfully propped himself up on one elbow. 

“Be careful, you old fool,” Ellen told him, but there was affection in her voice.

“The kid’s right. You boys look like I feel. If Lucy’s sprung the Enemy on us, we need to clear out and take this up later.”

“Bobby,” said Cas. “Do you know anything about the Enemy Lucifer captured?”

“No, I sure don’t.”

“Virgil claimed that Lucifer had captured one of their young. He told me it might have been housed in John Winchester’s quarters.”

Bobby rubbed his head. “John? That’s funny, that’s the last thing I remember, trying to roust John.” 

“So you don’t know if the creature was there?” Bobby shook his head. “It’s possible if we locate the young creature and let it escape, we could possibly still save the fort.”

“You wanna try looking up in John’s room?”

“I’ll go with you, Cas,” said Victor.

“I think it would be better if you assist with the evacuation,” Cas told him. “I could elude Lucifer’s men more easily if I’m alone.”

“You sure, kid?” asked Bobby.

“John’s quarters are near to Dean’s. I know that area … quite well.”

Bobby chuckled. “I suppose you do.”

 

Abaddon pointed out across the battlements. 

Lucifer picked up the binoculars and scanned the horizon. “How long has it been there?”

“I’m not completely sure. It came up in my last scrying.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? We have its calf, but it’s not attacking. I wonder why?”

“Maybe not now, but soon,” said Abaddon. “This joint is gonna crumble.” 

Lucifer was silent.

“Lucifer. We need to get everybody outta here,” said Abaddon. “Fast.”

“You knew what was coming, Abaddon.”

“Look, Lucifer, what about the hostages? There's civilians in there. Cooks and blacksmiths and the like. Some of them are just kids.”

“An unfortunate circumstance, perhaps. After all, this is war.”

It was Abaddon's turn to be silent. “Is it?” she finally said.

Lucifer pulled himself up. “I was fairly certain I had located my traitor. Don't make me doubt myself.”  
He smiled courteously at Abaddon and gave her back the binoculars. Then he turned to the sentry on duty. “Tell no one about the Enemy. If word gets out, I will kill you both. Personally.” And then he departed.

Abaddon glared after Lucifer, and then arched an inquisitive eyebrow at the sentry.

 

Dean crept up another back staircase to another darkened passageway. He had lived here since birth, so he knew every nook and cranny. But even so, he had already had a couple of close calls with Lucifer’s men. He peeked around another corner and was greatly annoyed to see a sentry barred his way through what he thought was a little-known back corridor. Crouching down behind the wall, he was thinking through alternative routes when, to his surprise, he spied his father coming from the other direction. John strolled right up to the guard, whistling as he walked.

“Identify yourself!” demanded the sentry, as Dean held his breath.

“I’m John Winchester. Good to meet you,” said John, sticking out his hand.

The sentry held up his sword. “Stay right there.”

“That’s not too friendly,” said John, moving to walk around the guy.

“I said, halt!” But John ignored him. 

“Dad!” Dean burst out just as the guard struck his father, who was unarmed, right in the gut with his sword. Brandishing his weapon, Dean fell on the guy. There was a brief fight, and Dean ended up knocking away the guy’s sword and then running him through. The sentry collapsed in a pool of blood, and Dean turned to tend to his father.

But there was no John Winchester, no blood, and no sign of a struggle.

Dean gasped as he was suddenly tackled and pushed up against the wall, a hand over his mouth. He struggled, but then stopped when he saw who it was. 

“Dad? Wait! I just saw the guy kill you.”

“That wasn’t me,” said John. “That was a doppelganger. Missouri gave me a spell.”

“Wow. That was impressive.” He stared at his father. “But I thought you didn’t like magic.”

John sighed. “As a general principle, no, I don’t. But let’s say I’ve been warming up to it. Now, tell me what the hell you’re doing here, Dean. Is your brother safe?”

“Sam’s fine. He’s out talking to a crawly-bug.”

John was speechless for a time. Dean was amused by this, but didn’t have time to savor the moment. “Dad, we gotta get out of here. We called the King of the Bugs and told him Lucy is the one who’s been kidnapping the little bugs.”

“He’s been doing … what?”

“That’s how the Emerald Fort was destroyed. And we think it’s what destroyed the Sapphire Fort: a bug.”

“And you’re … talking to these things.”

“It’s a long story, Dad. But we need to get everybody out of here. Everybody but Lucifer, that is!”

“I saw where they were holding our men,” said John. Let's go.”

 

Victor was nervous, to say the least. He knew the layout of the Red Fort like the back of his hand, but he had a large group of people to move, some of them badly wounded. Bobby had refused a stretcher, but he was clinging closely to Ellen. And just the fact that he had let Victor take point meant the old man must be hurting. 

He came to another blind passageway and signaled everybody to halt. It looked clear, but something was wrong. Victor couldn’t explain it: it was like a tickling on the back of his neck. 

“What is it?” whispered Bobby.

“Not sure,” Victor told him. He motioned for Ash, and, swords drawn, the both of them rounded the corner and proceeded cautiously down the hallway. Both clung to the side of the corridor, creeping along until they came to the next corner. Victor nodded to Ash and, at the same moment, they leapt out into the hallway, weapons at the ready.

And came face to face with several of Lucifer’s men. There was a tall redhead leading them.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, lowering her sword. “Does this place have a back door or not?”

Victor and Ash looked at one another. “Uh. What?” asked Victor, who was still holding his sword.

“I’m Abaddon,” said the woman. “I’m presently Lucifer’s second in command, which, given our leader’s current state of mind, is not a great career choice. So, we’re deserting. But we wanna avoid being bug feed.”

“Bug feed? Is there a crawly-bug here?” asked Ash.

“You hadn't spotted him?” asked Abaddon. 

“We've been otherwise occupied,” grunted Victor.

“He’s out front. Biggest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Then it’s just like Cas said. We’ve gotta evacuate,” Victor told Ash. “Let me get my men. We’ll lead the way.” He nodded to Ash, and they walked back down the hall. 

“Wait, we’re gonna trust ‘em?” Ash whispered.

“Not on your life. But I don’t see as we have any choice.” He rounded the corner. “All right. I have some bad news, and some worse news.”

“What the hell is it now?” asked Bobby.

“We’re teaming up with Lucifer.”

 

Cas crept along the hallway. He hadn’t run into too many sentries along the way, he thought was odd. Was something distracting Lucifer’s men?

He reached the hallway where the Winchesters had their residences. John’s suite was just down the corridor from Dean’s, though Cas hadn’t been in there much, as John was usually away somewhere.

Looking carefully up and down the hallway, he crept over to John’s door. He had expected to spend a little time breaking the locking spell, but to his surprise, the door was open and slightly ajar.

Holding his breath and drawing his sword, he carefully pushed the door open. It was completely dark inside. He stepped across the threshold and scanned around the room, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. The room John used as an office was in great disarray. Like Cas’s smithy it had been ransacked by Lucifer’s troops. 

He froze. There was a soft noise coming from the hallway, where Cas guessed John’s bedroom was located. Gripping his sword, he edged down the hallway, towards the door. It was unlocked, but he definitely heard a scuffling sound from within. There was a light underneath the door.

“Mr. Winchester?” he whispered.

There was no reply.

Screwing up his courage, Castiel gripped the doorknob, and, with a quick twist, leapt into the room, his sword at the ready. But the room was deserted. It was lighter in here, as there was an open window that let in the sunlight. A breeze was blowing through the window, creating the noise of the curtains flapping in the wind. 

Castiel sighed and lowered his weapon. He looked around the room, was also a mess. Regretfully, he sheathed his sword and began to make his way out of John’s suite. He walked back down the hallway, and into the office.

Cas froze. There was a man standing there.

“Hello again, Castiel,” said Lucifer.

 

“They’ve been captured,” said John.

Dean peered over the railing at the room on the floor below. A group of soldiers was paused, quite near the very back entrance of the fort. There were several injured men, and they were having their wounds tended.

What struck Dean – and obviously his father had noticed as well – was that the group was a mixture of soldiers from the Red Fort garrison as well as the Onyx fort: Lucifer’s men.

Dean withdrew from the railing and crouched down next to his father against the wall. “But nobody’s holding a sword to anybody, Dad. I’m not sure what’s happening.”

“What’s happening is we’re gonna get down there and kick their asses.”

“Dad-“

“Now, soldier!”

Dean nodded and reluctantly headed downstairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. 

Two of Lucifer’s men were standing at the edge of the crowd, their backs to the stairs. John had decided if they took out a couple of them, the disruption would allow their own men to overthrow their (presumed) captors. But Dean didn’t think it looked anything like a hostage situation, especially as he saw Victor and Bobby up there talking quietly with a redhead he took for one of Lucifer’s group.

Dean searched the faces but didn’t see Cas, which also worried him. He hoped the bladesmith was all right.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and gestured up to his father, who he couldn’t see, but knew was watching. He crept up in back of Lucifer’s men.

“Hey, Dean! Dude!” hailed Ash, who had evidently spotted them.

Dean froze, his sword raised. “Uhhhhh, hey, Ash.”

With a cry, John leapt down from the stairs and landed in their midst.

“John, what in seven hells do you think you’re doing?” barked Bobby.

“This is John Winchester?” asked the redhead, who was giving him an appraising look.

“What am I doing?” asked John. “What are you doing? These are Lucifer’s troops. Did you get knocked in the head?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah,” said Bobby, feeling his bandages. “This is Abaddon, John. They’re deserting.”

“Lucifer’s nuts. Almost as nuts as you, it looks like,” Abaddon told John, a wry smile on her face.

“And apparently there’s a crawly-bug out there looking to take down the fort,” said Bobby.

“Yeah, it’s … a friend,” said Dean.

“What?”

“It’s a long story,” said Dean. “But we got a firm deadline. Maybe twenty minutes.”

“Okay, ya idjits,” said Bobby. “You heard the man. Get moving.”

“Uh, I think I may have sprained my ankle,” John admitted.

“Get to his ankle, and then get moving,” laughed Bobby.

Dean searched the faces. “Has anybody seen Cas?”

Ellen stepped forward with a roll of bandages for John. “We just left him, honey. One of Lucifer’s men told him where they were keeping an Enemy creature captive.”

“Where?”

“Your dad’s quarters.”

“Dammit, I don’t want bug spit all over my room!” groused John.

“Yes, and he was supposed to come right back,” Bobby told him.

“I got this,” said Dean. “You guys get out of here, I’ll be right back.” And, before they could reply, he was off running.

 

Sam sat in Iskander’s shade, sweating his ass off, and compulsively checking his watch. Dean had been gone a long time. Surely, Demeter was drawing near.

And then he heard the rumbling. 

“No! It’s too early.”

Iskander began to move, all his legs flailing at once. Sam scrambled away as the huge animal turned itself about. It was like watching a sailing ship maneuvering for warfare. He ran up the closest dune and stood at the very top, watching the show from above.

And then Demeter broke the surface, all twitching legs and writhing tentacles. To Sam’s surprise, she breached fully, turning around to face Iskander. The two beasts faced off for a while, flaring their tentacles. And then, in a dominance display, Demeter raised the full front third of her body off the ground. Iskander did the same, and they paused for a moment, poised, facing each other.

Sam held his breath.

And then both of them slammed back down. The earth trembled, and Sam was knocked off his feet. He tumbled, rolling down the back of the dune. He paused a moment at the very bottom, the wind knocked out of him. And then he scrambled back up to see what was happening. 

Both of the creatures were rearing again. And a huge chunk had fallen off the Red Fort’s front façade.

 

“How fortunate to run into you,” said Lucifer, leaning against the door jamb, casually swinging his sword. 

Cas stood silent, breathing hard.

Lucifer canted his head to the side. “It’s not here, you know.”

“What’s not here?”

“Don’t play dumb! We put the creature down in the kitchen.”

“Then get out of my way! I need to find it.”

Lucifer raised a hand. “Castiel, aren’t you wondering by now why it’s so quiet around here? You know, your friends are in for a surprise. I’m allowing them to escape. Along with some filthy traitors. They’ll think they’ve sneaked out the back, but I’ve sent all my troops out to meet them.”

“It will be a slaughter,” said Cas.

“Yes.”

“I’ve got to warn them!”

“Or did you need to free that wretched bug? Either way, you won’t have time.” And Lucifer smiled his serpent smile.

Cas pulled the gun out of his belt. “I have one bullet in this gun, Lucifer. It’s for you.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Your enchanted bullets have no effect on me. I’m warded against your magic.”

“So were Virgil and Alastair.”

“Come on. Give it a try. And waste a bullet.”

Castiel stood, gun pointed, for a long moment. 

The entire building groaned and shook. Lucifer was thrown against the door frame. Seizing the opportunity, Cas ducked past him and, pausing only to elbow Lucifer in the gut as he passed, fled down the corridor.

“You little fucker!” said Lucifer. He rubbed his stomach. “You hit me!” Cursing, he took off after Castiel.

Cas ran down the hallway and ducked into Dean’s room, where he made straight for the bathroom.

“A bathroom break?” chuckled Lucifer. “Isn’t this an inconvenient time?” He smirked and sauntered through Dean's chambers and into the bathroom. 

Lucifer stalked slowly into the room, listening to the sound of dripping water. “Where the hell did you go. Oh, I see.” He padded over to the hot springs pool. He raised his sword, but was unable to see below the surface into the darkened pool. He edged over to the side.

A hand shot up, gripping his ankle, and pulling him down into the pool.

Lucifer screamed, and got a mouthful of water. And then someone was up on his shoulders, forcing him down, under the water. He hadn’t gotten a full breath before he was pulled in, so he wrestled desperately for the surface. Flailing, he reached back, desperately trying to unseat his unseen tormenter. 

And then he struggled less.

And then less.

And then his body went limp. 

After a while, Cas surfaced, gasping for breath. He felt hands under his armpits, yanking him out of the pool.

“Dean!”

“What are you doing?” said Dean, as Cas sputtered and spat water.

“Drowning Lucifer.”

Dean looked over the pool. “Cool! Dude, we gotta get outta here. Now!”

As if in answer the entire building rocked again. 

“Dammit! I told Iskander to wait!”

“Who?”

“He’s King of the Crawly-bugs. Evidently.”

The building rocked again, and part of the ceiling fell, almost clobbering them.

Dean spat ceiling dust. “All right, we gotta go yesterday. Come on!” 

“Dean! We need to rescue the creature.”

“We don’t know where it is.”

“I do! Come on.”

And they took off down the hall.

 

Victor was still feeling nervous. His motley band of soldiers had made it out the (they hoped) secret back entrance and onto the desert. They were now all assembled in a box canyon all the way over on the opposite side of the hill from the main entrance to the fort. But while the rest of the men were breathing a sigh of relief that they hadn't engaged Lucifer's men in their retreat, he remained wary.

“We should stop here and tend to the wounded,” said Bobby.

“Bobby, we should get out of here.”

“We said we'd wait a spell for Dean. What's gotten into you, Victor?”

“In case you've forgotten. Lucifer's men nearly killed me and Ash, just to prove a point. I don't see him just letting us walk out of here.”

“That's what we just done,” said Bobby.

Abaddon, who had been listening to the conversation, nodded. “I agree with Victor. You can't trust Lucifer. Believe me.”

Bobby sighed. “You can't be too careful I guess. Let's set out scouts.”

“Bobby!” shouted Ellen.

Pouring into the canyon was a swarm of men. Lucifer's men.

“We can't hold off that many!” said Victor. “We need to retreat. Everybody, get back inside!”

There was a rumbling. “Oh for fuck’s sake, now what!” said Bobby. 

“I know that sound,” said Victor. “Everybody! Stay back!”

The Red Fort trembled, and then a large piece came crashing off, landing on the ground not too far from the small party of men.

“We can’t go back inside. We’ll be killed.”

“Balls!” said Bobby. “We're trapped like rats.”

 

“This way,” said Dean when, yet again, the building shook and he and Cas confronted a dead end. He led Cas down a dark, narrow stairway. Cas now had utterly no idea where he was. Not until Dean zigged and zagged and they suddenly emerged in a courtyard. 

“There she is!” said Dean. Huddled in the corner, curled up like a giant, hippo-sized sowbug, was the creature they were looking for.

They rushed over. “She’s been injured,” said Cas, observing the green blood on the soft carapace. 

“Dammit, now I wish we’d brought Sammy. He’s the one who speaks bug.”

Cas pulled at a chain that had been strung around the animal. “We need to break her free.”

The building shook, and Cas and Dean struggled to remain standing. Ignoring the ruckus, Cas pulled a tool out of his belt and began working at the lock on the chain. After a few moments, the lock sprung open, and the chain fell away.

The creature uncurled, and then bolted away, knocking down Dean and Cas. They lay there, stunned, for a long moment.

“You’re fucking welcome!” Dean shouted after it.

“Come on!” said Cas, beginning the chase.

“We’ll never catch it! It’s got more legs than the whole garrison combined.” But then he reluctantly came running after Cas. They followed it across the hall and then down a staircase.

The building trembled again, and they had to stop. “Lost her!” said Cas, standing at a corner, frantically looking left and right.

“I think I know what she’s doing.” He led Cas down a very rough hallway and into a storage room. It was large and crammed full of odds and ends. The back wall was rough and unfinished. They both entered and looked around. 

There was a rustling sound, and both ran towards the back wall. They arrived just in time to see the creature burrow into the wall and disappear.

“We’re right up against the mountain back here,” said Dean. He squatted down and peered into the tunnel. “She was running to a place where she could burrow out.”

There was a great crack, and part of the ceiling came crashing down. Dean leapt on top of Cas and they both huddled at the wall as the room shook, the walls cracking.

 

Victor had his weapon raised. He glanced behind him once again. There were so few of them healthy enough to fight, but nearly everyone, even the guys who could barely stand, had grabbed some sort of weapon, even if it was only a crow bar.

“Our last stand. Great,” muttered Victor. They would probably tell heroic stories about this day. Thing was, Victor didn’t especially want to star in a heroic story.

Bobby was standing next to him, peering under the bandages on his head. He must have been thinking the same thing. “Just in case I don’t get to tell you later, Victor. It’s been an honor.”

Victor tried to think of something appropriately heroic to say. “Oh, fuck me,” was all that came out.

Bobby burst out laughing. 

Up above them the hill trembled. A great crack appeared in the side of the Red Fort.

“What the hell is that?” asked Victor, pointing into the distance.

A huge shape appeared behind Lucifer’s army. It was a large crawly-bug, scurrying along the desert.

“It’s come for us!” said Abaddon.

“Wait, I don’t think so,” said Victor, peering into the distance.

It had some maniac up top, riding it. The bug halted, and there were people leaping down the sides. 

There was a lot of shouting. Lucifer’s men had halted their advance, unsure what to do.

A cry went up, and to Victor’s utter astonishment, the people who had evidently ridden up on a big goddam crawly-bug charged Lucifer’s army.

“Everybody,” said Abaddon. “Forward!” Weapon raised, she began to rush towards the fight, her men hastening after her.

Victor gaped at Bobby. 

“Well, what are you waitin’ for?” asked Bobby. “I need to get me a piece of Lucifer!” 

Victor grinned and they both ran towards the melee.

 

Over on the other side of the hill, Sam watched as his beloved Red Fort began to tremble. He stood for a moment, praying that Dean and all the others had gotten out in time.

And then he looked around, remembering that without Dean, he was now all alone. 

He began to walk around the mountain, hoping to meet the rest of the guys by the back entrance. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he wished he had thought to bring along a bottle of water.

He had been walking for a decent amount of time when he spotted the lone horseman hurrying his way. He waved, and the rider made a bee-line for him.

“Jess!”

“Need a lift?”

“Do I ever!” 

“Seems I'm always pulling you out of danger,” said Jess, giving him a hand up to sit behind her.

“My hero,” sighed Sam, hugging her tight. “The others: did they make it out okay?”

Jess was quiet for a moment. “We don’t know. There’s a big dustup over on the other side of the mountain. I think we got the better of Lucifer’s men: that’s why I said I’d come over and get you.”

“My dad?”

“Your dad is fine. But….”

“Dean?”

Jess bit her lip. “No one’s seen Dean. Or Cas.”

Sam’s heart sunk.

 

Dean rose, coughing, and pulled Cas to his feet. 

“Dammit, why couldn't Iskander wait another damn five minutes,” Dean cursed.

There was a shot, and Dean ducked again.

“Son of a bitch!” He peered up. 

A man was standing at the door, pointing a shotgun at them.

“Dean,” whispered Cas. He eyed the tunnel the young creature had just made.

“Oh, shit no,” sighed Dean. He nodded. And then as one, they leapt into the tunnel and ran off, as fast as they could, keeping half-crouched and ducking around the many wild corners.

“Dean! Come on! It’s the only way!” shouted Cas. Dean let Cas yank him by the hand. “Faster.”

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Dean told him as he ducked down to avoid hitting the low ceiling. “We need taller bugs!”

They went through a turn and ducked as something ricocheted off the wall beside them. “Oh, no! Not him!” said Dean, peering back along the dark tunnel. 

“Lucifer,” whispered Cas.

“I thought you drowned him!”

“I did! I nearly drowned myself!”

“God damn that guy,” grumbled Dean. They both cringed as another shot rang out. Dean watched as part of the wall crumbled. “He must have picked up one of Sam’s salt shotguns.” 

The ground quaked and the top of the tunnel began to collapse. “We’re not gonna make it.”

“We will make it!” Cas gripped Dean’s arm, tight enough to bruise, and hurried him along.

“We’re not gonna make it.”

“We will make it.”

“We-“ Dean cried out as he felt a sharp pain in his side. 

“Dean!”

Dean put a hand to his ribs and saw the blood. “Damn! That stings like hell.” Cas grabbed Dean’s arm and threw it over his shoulders and then half dragged him along. 

Another shot rang out. Cas halted as the tunnel ahead collapsed, scattering dust and dirt. Dean sank to his knees, grasping at his wound. Lucifer ran into view, wielding the shotgun. He grinned and pointed it at Cas, who stood staring at him.

Cas moved in front of Dean. He held up his hand towards Lucifer, and began reciting a spell.

Lucifer dropped the shotgun and, as Dean looked on in terror, grinned and unsheathed his sword.

“Cas, no!” 

Cas continued speaking.

Lucifer raised his sword and lunged at Cas.

Cas grabbed the pistol from his belt and shot Lucifer through the heart, using the last bullet.

Lucifer gasped and fell to his knees.

“I guess you are not warded after all,” Cas told him.

Lucifer collapsed in a pool of blood.

“Is he all dead this time?” whispered Dean. Cas toed Lucifer with his boot, and went back to grab Dean and help him to his feet.

“I think he is all dead. But we must get out of here. I’m concerned about the stability of this tunnel.”

As if in answer, suddenly there was a great rumbling. Part of the ceiling collapsed, now blocking their way back. 

“Oh shit, what now?” moaned Dean.

 


	13. Chapter 13

The ceiling crumbled. Dirty and bleeding, Dean clung onto Cas, thinking this was a very stupid way to die, but at least he got to be here, in his final moments, with this person. “I love you,” he whispered.

“What?” asked Cas.

“What?” answered Dean.

Yes, it was a very stupid way to die.

There was a sharp crack, and both of them stared upwards as suddenly a beam of sunlight lit up the dim tunnel.

A very large feeding tentacle snaked in, felt around, grabbed Lucifer’s body, and yanked him back out. 

In the far in the distance, there was the muffled sound of slurping.

“Hey!”

Cas and Dean looked at one another, and then looked up to see Sam’s head peeking over the big hole in the ceiling. “Sam?” said Dean.

“That wasn’t very pretty!” said Sam.

“Sorry we missed it,” Dean yelled. “Hey, we need a hand.”

“I’m sending you lots of legs,” said Sam. He stepped back and Cecilia the crawly-bug was scurrying down into the hole. She stood before Dean and Cas, wiggling her tentacles in an excited manner.

“I guess we ride up?” Dean asked Cas. Dean grabbed onto the small bug and rode her back out of the tunnel, and then she went back for Cas.

“How the hell did you find us?” Dean asked Sam.

“Demeter found you!” said Sam, pointing to an excessively large bug that was standing nearby. “Lucifer wounded her calf, Persephone, and I guess he must have gotten some bug blood on him.”

Dean and Cas looked at each other. “I didn’t see any blood. Any bug blood, that is.”

“Well, it only takes a few molecules. These guys have an insane sense of smell.”

“I guess we’ll watch ourselves.”

“Anyway, between me and Alfie, we managed to convince her that you guys rescued her. Anyway, come on up, we'll take you to where everybody is gathered.” And then they were up a rope ladder, and riding on Demeter's back. Dean had to agree it was better than trying to ride inside one of the damned things.

Castiel looked around the encampment with wonder. The evacuees had gotten a few miles away from the Red Fort he guessed, as he could still see the red rock mountains in the distance. There were several giant bugs milling around, some of which – of whom? – he recognized, some he didn’t. He saw Crowley presiding over a gaggle of kitchen personnel, many of whom carried blades Cas had personally forged. There was a whole group of Benny’s vampirates, all seeking the shade of one of the bigger bugs. There were soldiers from the Red Fort, all mixed in with Lucifer’s people. Some of Lucifer’s men appeared to be prisoners of war, but others were mingling with his friends, chatting, or getting their wounds tended to. Doc Cottle was running back and forth, assisted by Rev. Jim, grumbling and checking the injured and flicking cigarette ashes at the unwary.

Some of Lucifer’s men ran up to Doc Cottle. “Come quick! You need to check on Abaddon.” 

“What's wrong with her?” he grumped. 

“We think it's a seizure! Hurry!”

“C’mon, Cas,” said Dean, and he followed Dean and Sam over to the redhead he recognized as one of Lucifer’s officers. She was now lying on the floor, writhing and foaming at the mouth. “Has she had these episodes before?” the doctor asked, kneeling down and supporting her head.

“I dunno. I don't think so.”

“Metatron!” wailed Abaddon. “No!”

“Wait, what did she say?” asked Dean. He looked at Cas.

Cas stepped forward. He hunkered down and watched Abaddon for a moment, while Doc Cottle administered a sedative. Her body relaxed, but she continued mumbling. “Doctor,” he said. “I think this condition may be magical in nature.”

“That guy Metatron?” asked Dean, who was hovering nearby. “That’s the guy who kicked you out, right?”

Cas nodded. “He is very powerful.”

“Abaddon thought he was controlling Lucifer,” Dean told them. “There at the end.”

“I think he may be seeking a new subject.”

“We need psychics!” said Sam, who was already running off.

Missouri was fetched, as was Pamela. Missouri knelt down next to Abaddon, who was pale and shaking, her eyes rolling up into her head.

“Whatever it is, it's gonna kill her,” said Cottle. “Her heart can't take it, and I don't wanna give her any more of the sedative.”

“Honey,” Missouri told Abaddon, “you gotta break the connection.” She looked up. “Pamela, help me.” The two women joined hands over Abaddon and started reciting the words. “Spirit, I command you to be gone. I command you!” Missouri began to sweat, and Pamela was breathing hard. 

“I command you!” shouted Missouri.

Abaddon reared up and emitted an ear-piercing scream. Missouri and Pamela let go, and both women fell back, gasping and shaking.

Abaddon was up on her elbows now. “What the fuck?” she growled, looking around. She got to her knees, trying to stand. 

“Easy, girl,” said the doctor, grabbing her arm to steady her.

“That fucker was in my head. In my head!” said Abaddon.

Missouri had raised herself up to sit, while Pamela remained lying down, with Jess down holding on to her. “Metatron?” Missouri asked.

“Metatron,” said Abaddon.

“We gotta kick that guy's fucking ass,” said Pamela, from where she was lying.

“Don’t worry. We will,” said Dean.

 

Thanks to what Benny was now calling the Bug Armada, and to Pamela's evident distress, everybody was swiftly relocated to the grounds of the old Sapphire Fort, including the troops who had remained loyal to Lucifer. They were behaving themselves, as Dean had threatened them with being used for bug feed.

John had called an informal meeting of the leaders to decide how to proceed. A rather large crowd sat around a big table in one of the old banquet rooms. John sat at the head with his sprained ankle propped up on a seat. There was a lot to talk about. Two of the six functioning forts had sustained a great deal of damage, and the Onyx Fort had been left with just a skeleton crew back home, and the remaining soldiers divided into loyalists and mutineers.

“I could take the men who are willing and take command of the Onyx Fort,” Abaddon volunteered.

“Do you trust all those guys?” asked Dean. “Or any of 'em?”

Abaddon smiled. “No. But we're used to it.”

“You know that place better than anyone,” said John. “I think you're the one for the job. Just don't get yourself killed.” Abaddon's smile broadened to a grin.

“I'd like to remain here at the Sapphire Fort,” said Pamela. “It's my home.”

“We could start rebuilding,” Bobby offered.

“'We?' Wait, you're staying here, Bobby?” laughed Dean. Bobby gave him the stink-eye.

“It's gonna be a big job,” said John.

“It's a big fucking mess,” Bobby agreed, “but it's near a bug den, so we'd have a supply of raw materials. Inias said he's happy to run the forge for us, when he's ready. If it's okay with Cas?”

Cas beamed and nodded. 

“We'll need to call in the other leaders,” said John, “but this place has been abandoned so long, I don't imagine there will be any objections. We're probably going to need to staff the Emerald Fort as well.”

“I got a suggestion,” said Dean. “Bobby and I already talked about this. You up for it, Victor?”

“What?” asked Victor, who evidently had not been consulted.

“About damned time,” said Bobby. 

“I- I-,” Victor stammered. Ash clapped him on the back. 

“Good, that's settled,” said John. “We've got some repair work too.” He turned to Sam. “I don't suppose you'll mind your old man staying around while we rebuild our home?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other and grinned. “I think the boys have been waiting for this, John,” Ellen told him.

“I have a proposal too!” declared Benny. John was obviously not thrilled with the vampire sitting in, but Dean had insisted on it. “You're not the only ones put out of your home, brother.”

“We need to help Benny and his crew rebuild their ship,” said Dean.

“Well, I've had second thoughts regarding that,” said Benny. “I had one hell of a good time racing around on those bugs! My whole crew, in fact. I've never seen those bastards so happy.”

Dean turned to. “You wanna captain a bug?”

“That is what I'm proposing.”

“You're going back to your pirating ways, Captain Lafitte?” asked John suspiciously.

“No! In fact, I am going to turn over a new leaf, if there were any leaves out here. Seem to me you're in need of a transportation system.”

“I'll stick to my baby, thanks,” said Dean.

“But you're gonna need big things hauled, if'n you're gonna rebuild that smashed fort of yours. Stones and suchlike.”

“What do the bugs think of this?” asked Sam. 

“I've been chatting with them, by way of Cas's little brother, and they're happy as hell to do it, if you keep running the generators for them to sniff.”

“We're bug drug dealers now,” chuckled Dean. 

“But I need that little brother of yours along, Cas. Will it be agreeable to you if he’s our cabin boy?”

Cas smiled. “It seems my family is in demand here. Yes, he can go along, but I want to make certain he’s keeping up with his lessons-“

“That we can do!”

“And perhaps the title of ‘helmsman’ would be more appropriate?”

Benny threw his head back and laughed. “Stickin’ up for the little guy, are you? What about apprentice helmsman?”

Cas nodded. “It wasn’t what my father envisioned as a career, but I think it’s more suited to him than work in a forge.” 

“We've all got a lot of work to do, but I'm optimistic,” said John. “We've got the Enemy on our side now. This is a great day.”

“There's one more thing,” said Pamela. “And it's a bigger threat than the bugs ever were.”

 

Dean stood talking to his brother when Missouri and Pamela came marching up. “Talk about an odd couple,” Dean told Sam.

“We need Sam,” said Pamela.

“We – who?” asked Dean.

“Me and Missouri.”

“I thought you guys hated each other!” Dean objected.

Missouri looked into Pamela's sightless eyes. “We got over it,” she chuckled.

“We're going to need all the magic users,” said Missouri. “Sam, and Cas too.”

They ended up gathering around a small table: Missouri, Pamela, Sam, Cas, and also Abaddon, though she still appeared pale. She had been set to leave for the Onyx fort, but when she found out the plans, had insisted on staying. Crowley had supplied them with fresh blood that he claimed he had had to steal away from Benny.

They all joined hands. “If you don't mind,” Cas told them, “I'd like to take the lead on this.”

“It's dangerous, Cas,” said Abaddon. 

“I know,” he said, reaching out his hands. Everyone at the table linked hands and concentrated. The pool of blood in the center roiled up to resemble the Sapphire Fort. And then, abruptly, it began to wheel off across the terrain. 

“Are you all right, honey?” Missouri whispered to Cas.

“I am perfectly all right,” he answered, glaring at the scrying bowl. The image soon changed to the Narrow Sea, and then they were hugging the coastline, and finally arriving in Lawrence, and alighting on a familiar building.

The view zoomed in as they flew inside and traveled from the entryway and down a wide corridor to a room stacked high with every kind of book. They threaded through the hoard to see a rumpled man standing in the midst, looking absolutely furious.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

He spoke, but it was as if his words were in their heads.

“Metatron,” said Castiel. “I am Castiel, the rightful owner of De Angelus Sword and Forge.”

Metatron shook his head. “You're still upset over that? We're fighting a war.”

“Not any more,” said Cas.

The ground trembled. And then the ground beneath Metatron's image was trembling as well. 

“What are you doing?” said Metatron. “Wait! Stop!”

But the shaking worsened. All of the people at the table – Cas, Missouri, Sam, Pamela and Abaddon – concentrated deeply.

A book from the top of one of the piles came shaking loose and struck Metatron in the head. He fell to his knees, crying, “Stop!” But the shaking continued. “No!” An entire stack of books rocked and then toppled over, burying him to the waist. “Stop this right now!” And then another pile fell, and Metatron was buried up the the neck. “I'll get you for this!” he hollered, the voice echoing in all their minds.

Cas began to recite the words, and the rest of the table joined in. “I'm being crushed! Help!” screamed Metatron. But then a white light cut through the image, suffusing the room. 

The books sparked, and lit on fire.

“Noooooo!”

And then they were backing swiftly out of the burning room, smoke wisping down the hall, and then out of the building, just as the rest of it caught on fire. The view whirled back, and they could see the entire mansion was engulfed in red-tinged flame.

And then back, until it was just smoke on the horizon.

And further back.

And further back.

The vision in the scrying dish slumped until it was just flat liquid.

Cas dropped his hands, sat a back and sighed.

“There goes Metatron,” said Missouri.

“It's a shame,” said Dean. 

Everyone turned back to stare at Dean. “A shame?” Sam asked him. His throat was dry.

“About the books, I mean.” said Dean. 

Pamela sat back and laughed.

 

The next few weeks were busy ones as everyone scrambled to begin rebuilding. Victor was approved as the new leader of the Emerald Fort, and so, after a big and rather drunken goodbye dinner, he had departed the Red Fort, taking along a few key personnel, including Ash, his new second in command. He also took along Garth, who wanted very much to learn to drive one of the cars. 

Bobby soon had repair crews working at the Sapphire Fort. Cas stayed around to help Inias get the forge running successfully, and then said his goodbyes. Jo decided to start an apprenticeship with Inias. Ellen approved of this, although Kevin was still rather grudging about the whole thing. Ellen too stayed on at the Sapphire Fort, while Kevin joined Cas in returning to the Red Fort, where Sam, Dean and their father had already gone ahead to get started on repairs. 

True to his word, Benny and his old crew began making runs almost every night, dragging stones and repair materials across the desert. During the days, the vampires slept while the bugs burrowed deep. Sam began to talk of mad plans for a vast underground railway connecting the forts, using the bug tunnels. He and Cas began talking late into the night about constructing steam powered locomotives for the job. Dean just rolled his eyes. 

John stuck around for a while, which was surprising.

Jess had gone to the Red Fort too, which surprised absolutely no one. 

But Dean had the biggest surprise of all. 

“No kidding?” Sam asked Dean. “You're gonna drive to Venice?”

“Venice, California. Cas found it in an old book.” They were sitting in his office one late night, just like old times. Dean had a dusty old book opened on his desk, spread open on a map. 

Sam threw up his hands. “I don't even know where to start. The west? Are you crazy?”

“Probably.” Dean was wearing his most annoyingly smug grin.

“You'll be eaten by bugs! That is before you run out of gas.”

“Cas and I have been talking with the bugs, along with his brother, Alfie. Seems it's a different tribe when you get further from the coast, but we're cool with them, as long as we stay on the roadway.”

“They have tribes?” Sam's eyes lit up. Almost despite himself, he was interested.

“Something like that. Anyway, that was the best word Alfie could come up with. Those brothers are smart. Weird as all hell, but smart.”

“Gas, Dean. What do you do when the reserve tank runs low?”

“That's the best part! The western outpost.”

“What?”

“There's a gas station right along the way. It's supposed to be run by some crazy hermit, Gabby or Gabe or something. Benny has heard some of the stories from western pirates.”

“You're gonna trust a bunch of bugs and a pirate story?”

“You wish you were going along, right?”

Sam sat back. “Dammit,” was all he said. And then he leaned over close to Dean. “You sure this is not all to avoid Dad and Rev. Jim marrying you off?”

Dean leaned in as well. “I haven't asked Cas yet!”

“Oh!” said Sam.

Dean was suddenly digging in a desk drawer. “You are sworn to silence on this!” He pulled out a little box. “I had Garth make this just before he left. Damn, the guy is good! I had no idea he was competent. We may have to kidnap him back from the Emerald Fort.” He handed the box to Sam. It contained a lovely little braided ring.

“Is this silver and gold?”

“Yeah.”

“It's pretty.”

“Anyway, I think out by the coast, you know. We'll get a picnic. A sunset. Very romantic. And he likes the water!”

“You're driving hundreds of miles into unknown territory … to propose?” whispered Sam.

“Yeah!” said Dean, like it was the most awesome idea ever.

The brothers grinned at one another.

 

And so, one morning, they all stood out in the long shadow of the Red Fort. Jess gave Cas an enthusiastic hug. Sam hovered near as Dean finished loading the car.

“And when will you be back? Will you be back?” Sam whispered to Dean, his voice rising a little at the end. 

“In time for you guys's wedding. Don't worry!” Dean slammed the trunk. “You wanna go to the west coast, right, Cas?”

Cas drew nearer, wearing a puzzled expression. Dean draped an arm over Cas shoulders. “I'm sure I'll like the west coast. I like the water,” said Cas.

“He likes the water,” said Dean.

“And perhaps we will find a Corvette, Dean. I've heard they have them in California.”

“I dunno. Like I told you, they weren't made of steel. They might not be around any more. Or they'd be in real bad shape.”

“Then I will learn the magic of fiberglass, and I will repair it for you!” Cas told him. Dean just smiled and put a hand on Cas's jaw, rubbing his thumb along Cas's face, and they looked at each other.

Sam smiled as Jess came up to stand beside him. Dean gave Sam a quick hug, and Jess a peck on the cheek, and then he and Cas were in the car, waving goodbye. 

The car revved and took off.

Sam, his arm around Jess, stood and watched until the car became a dot on the horizon, and then disappeared off the edge of the world. “You know,” Jess whispered, “how much you wanna bet those guys come back driving one of those wacky old cars, a Corvette?”

Sam laughed and kissed the top of Jess's head.

“Sam!”

Sam turned to see Crowley, standing there in a chef's tonque. “I need some input on tonight's menu.”

“OK. We'll figure it out,” Sam told him.

And then they all went inside.


End file.
